My Little Friend
by thievesfire
Summary: The Kennedy Chronicles: First of the Dog Soldiers Arc: Separated from his brothers and on the run, his luck is about to run out...
1. A Hard Man To Find

**((So this is my first ever fanfiction, so please be kind! The storyline and setting are mine. All the characters are based on those from the WWE and unfortunately I don't own any of them! Please leave comments and let me know if you think this is worth continuing, it's just a short scene which popped into my head!**

**UPDATE: This chapter has been revised! I hope you enjoy this updated version!))**

**KENNEDY**

He'd never been afraid of the dark. In so many ways, it felt more natural than the day. What the hell was day anyway? Night, day, they were all the same in Kennedy. The sun never broke through the barrier of cloud, and he was pretty fucking sure he'd never seen the mythical ball of fire in the sky. Might not have even been real, but the thought of some warmth...that was a novelty. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of the tattered hoodie he wore; meagre protection against the endless cold, but like everything he wore and carried, it was all he had. The hood was pulled low. He should have stayed hidden, but there was only so long he could stay in the shadows. Soon someone would give him up or he'd be found. Testing his chances wasn't smart. But then, he'd never been fucking smart. He stepped through puddles, old and oily like everything in that part of town. The rain that splattered and pitched off rooftops and asphalt even _smelled_ wrong. He sniffed, his head down, and passed by staring eyes and snide comments. He thought about stopping, cracking some teeth and blunting some jaws, but not no, not tonight.

His hair curled from the damp, jeans started to wet through. He knew these streets, these roads, and passed through shadow and lamplight to the roads where cars screamed by and other bodies hustled the streets. Here and there he was met with curious looks, people who might have known him, others who didn't give a flying fuck. Too many people were out in this rain. But there was nowhere else to go. He turned up Helier Street; narrow, deserted there was little light and fewer places to hide. He quickened his pace, body bent a little, eyes swung left and right, kept on top of it. Got to keep on top of it or they'll sneak up and stab you in the back the fucking cowards. Cowards! All of them...all those footsteps which followed him, those heavy feet. They wanted him to run. He didn't even need to look, but chanced a slight glance over his stooped shoulder. Never alone – trouble was his constant companion.

Water splashed from the sidewalk as he took his chances, and bolted. He was small, fast. He dodged round a corner and down into the darkness of an unfamiliar side street, too new, too clean. His breathing quickened and his arms swung fast. He didn't need to look to know: they were catching up.

'Fuck,' he hissed. Left. He turned at the last second and shot off down another street with no name. Dangerous move; he couldn't figure where he was headed. He didn't know where to go, where to hide, where to vault and where to turn. But it didn't matter, he could tell by the distance they kept that they weren't intending to catch him – they were herding him. Something, or someone was waiting in the dark. He looked back, too late, slammed face first into the stony chest of someone much bigger. He stumbled back, scrapped his hands and knocked the back of his head against the inky sidewalk. He blinked, once, twice, couldn't see anything but broken lights pretending to be stars.

'Get him up.'

He found himself hurled to his feet, strong arms, strong hands held him firm. His body was bent forward, arms taut behind him, hand in his hair to make him stare. He struggled, but they held on; amused at his efforts. His hood had fallen back, and new fingers curled into his dirty blond hair; forced him to confront the cruel sickle grin that welcomed him.

'You know you're a hard man to find Mr Ambrose. I dare say you've done well to hide from me for so long, but all games must have a winner, and this hand is mine.'

Smug bastard.

'Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?' defiance bled from his eyes down to his voice. He hawked and spat onto the shiny leather shoes below. 'You're getting nothing from me, so it's game over.'

A click of the fingers found two firsts knotted into his gut. He coughed, grunted from the dull pain, hissed as his head was pulled up once more.

'I will, eventually. Just two more to go Ambrose; your brothers may have thought leaving you behind was clever, that I wouldn't know, wouldn't _find_ you. We're on their trail. No one steals from the Game, and even that, is the least of your crimes.'

_No one steals from the Game_. He made him fucking sick.

'It was never yours shit stick,' he snarled and tried to kick out. Instead he wound up on his knees, the asphalt prickled through the holes in his jeans and dented his skin. The Game chuckled darkly and released Ambrose's hair. In his hand, he held something Dean had been acquainted with many moneys before, and would rather not meet again. The Game levelled his weapon, an old sledgehammer with _My Little Friend_ carved into the handle; he raised Ambrose's chin with the head.

'Don't test me Dean. Remember what happens to people who do.'

'They get the Hunter surprise? A long, slow fuck up the ass?'

The goon on the left, a smooth headed creature with viper like eyes and a sadistic smirk bent his arm back so far and so hard he heard the bones crunch and licked his lips with anticipation.

'Let's just fuck him up now. Leave the body for the others to find.'

'No.'

Dean tried to jerk his head away from the sledgehammer, but the Game jarred it into his throat, crushed his Adams apple.

'We have him, the other two will come to us.' He looked up at the rain and a distant rumble of thunder pushed a thick hand into the pocket of his smart woollen coat. His neck disappeared down beneath the collar, and he hefted the sledgehammer to his shoulder. He jerked his head northward. 'Come on, let's leave this shit hole. My shoes are spoiling. Drag him if you have to. The car is waiting and I advise you make his journey as uncomfortable as possible gentlemen.'

The look in his eye bothered Dean and he bucked wildly against those who held him back. He knew them both by name, fuck, he knew them better than their boss probably did. They'd all been bad guys once, before Randy Orton and Dave Batista got their shoes shined, bought fancy coats and Dean had run off into the dark. Their greed had brought the whole rebellion to its knees, with the help of the hounds. Men like the Game had too much power; corruption seeped through every pore of the screwed up city they called home.

The Game, Hunter Hearst Helmsley, heard Ambrose swear and growl behind him as he tried to escape.

'Shut him up. I don't want to hear another word out of the bastard's mouth until we return to North side, there he can scream all he wants. In fact, I'll encourage it.'

'Nighty night,' Randy snickered as Batista slammed a meaty fist straight across Dean's jaw. He caught the limp body and slung it over his shoulder. The two men nodded to each other and hurried after the Game. Dean, half dazed and blind, found the sidewalk disappear below him. His head swam and darkness ebbed into sight. They'd know – they'd find out, somehow they'd find out. He slumped back and forth between consciousness and in his short lucid moments, he felt the fear inside of what was in store for him, and if they too were caught, his brothers...


	2. Be Safe, Brother

**(( a big thank you to everyone who has read this so far! I was itching to write more so I couldn't just let it lie. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter! ))**

**HARRISON**

The last light of the day had faded long before, and the moon was obscured by low clouds. There was a heat that promised storms, over the crackling static of the radio there was warning of hurricane winds. You'd be a fool to step out into the chaos. The old windows rattled high up on the walls. A cruel wind snuck in to chill the already freezing space. An old trash can sat center of the floor, stuffed with newspaper and old bits of timber. Four damp matches had somehow managed to set it alight. The flames rolled off it bright, but flickered dangerously as the wind picked up. Two shadows warmed themselves by the fire. One held out his massive hands and relished the heat.

'Careful you don't burn yourself. Last thing we need is a superman who can't punch through walls.'

The giant chuckled but didn't respond.

'I mean it Roman.' His company came closer into the light, revealing blond and brown hair matted from lack of care. The beard on his chin was unkempt; he looked shallow, exhausted, sick. 'Who's gonna look after you if you can't fight huh?'

'Not you.' His voice was deep, almost velvet like, but his eyes were hard as he lowered his hands and focused in on a particular piece of newspaper as it curled and burned away. The storm outside was picking up speed; he could hear the scream as the wind cut through the world. The walls of the warehouse were thin, but it was enough. They'd spent three days there now. Normally it'd be a different place each night, but something had happened. Seth was sick, at first he brushed it off as just a cold, but Roman was no fool. He heard the fever in the night, saw how his brother shook. It wasn't safe to stay, but there was no way he could move him. 'Why aren't you sleeping?'

'Think I can sleep with that racket?' he had a tattered old blanket wrapped around his shoulders and he sat down in front of the fire, head on his knees. His stare was blank, and Roman knew what he was thinking. 'I'm worried about Dean.'

'It was his decision to stay behind. You know that.'

'We shouldn't have left him.'

'I know. But he gave us no choice. If we'd all tried to run, we would have been caught. He knew, he saw that.'

'Do you think it was worth it? Us living like this? Remember when we used to walk with the Game? Remember how we did everything he wanted and it was all good?'

'Then it wasn't.'

Seth muttered something to himself. He coughed, spat to his left and closed his eyes. 'I want to go back for Dean.'

'You're not going anywhere.' Roman sat down heavily on one of the hundreds of crates that lined the warehouse. They'd been lucky. Someone was foolish enough to just leave the place padlocked. There wasn't a lock invented that could keep Seth out. His light fingers had gotten them out of trouble just as often as it got them into it. He looked about him; all shadows. Who knew what was inside all those boxes? There was one, and one alone they knew the contents of, hidden away in the shadows. His long hair ran over his shoulders like the rain that started to pour, his serious eyes saw the state of his friend. He needed a doctor, a hospital even, but if they so much as checked into one, he knew they'd be found out. Dean had always been the one with contacts, who knew people who knew people who had an uncle. They needed him, Seth was getting worse, and Roman had no idea how to help him.

'I'll get him.'

'You're not leaving me here. You're not going out there in this. You'll end up the same.'

'If I don't go now I won't get there before morning. I have to.' Roman stood, his old boots were beginning to wear thin, his coat had tears and chunks missing, it was difficult to acquire new things when your thief was sick and you were on the run. 'I'll be back tomorrow night.'

'What about me? Huh? You can't just leave me behind. What if something happens? Someone finds me?' Seth, who normally would have fought proudly beside his brothers, genuinely looked worried. He knew, as well as Roman, that he was in no condition to fight, he could barely keep himself up right sitting down, let alone land punches. The rain smacked the windows like bullets, and Roman turned his head toward the sound.

'You go out there you're no use to me Seth, I need to be able to move fast. I'll be back before you know it. If something happens, hide. Don't let them find you.' He moved toward his seated friend, and caught his head with his arm, bent and pulled him against his chest in a brief hug. He kissed the top of the man's head. 'Be safe brother.'

He moved away, toward the door and Seth had to brace himself against one of the crates, head spinning as Roman left. The door swung shut and he heard it lock, leaving him alone with just the crackling flames. He shivered, and glanced around him. Too quiet, too alone. He closed his eyes, put his head against his knees once again, and tried to will himself to sleep.

* * *

Roman heaved his hood up over his head, pulled it low over his eyes and tucked his hair back into cover. He didn't want to leave Seth, but knew he had little choice. Dean was miles away. From his endless years of getting busted up, infections and blows with death, their lunatic friend would be able to do more for Seth than Roman would; at least until someone who actually knew what they were doing could come and help. He sniffed and cast his eyes left and right. No one knew who they were. In times like these, people didn't take too kindly to strangers in their town. They'd managed to come under the cover of darkness before, and he knew it would be the only way he could leave. The warehouse district sat by the sea and he could see the waves, black and fierce, far too close for comfort. Dean would hate it here. He couldn't swim, and had always watched the waters with suspicion.

He started to walk, kept an even pace. He knew he was being watched by dozens of cameras, could almost hear them swivel in place above the thunder. So he stayed in the dark, moved when they turned away. Did his best to remain invisible; not his forte, that was Seth and Dean's area. Men like him were hard to hide. He paused beside the old truck they'd managed to swipe when they'd left Kennedy. It was covered with a heavy tarpaulin found in the back. Roman crouched, there was a camera directly opposite, perched on the corner of the neighbouring warehouse. It turned slowly, deliberately. He doubted it'd see much past the sheets of rain but he couldn't take his chances. The Game had seeds everywhere, every town, hand in every pocket. If Roman was spotted, he knew it could spell the end for them all. He watched the camera turn, it had a blind spot where it turned to look where delivery trucks came in. His hand clutched the edge of the tarpaulin, tied to the wheels and he started to quickly undo the clumsy knots he'd tied nights before. His breathing was heavy as the string released. The camera moved to the left. He ducked to the other side and started to undo the others.

The tarpaulin threatened to fly free but he clung on, the camera moved. He heaved it off the truck and heaved open the door. Roman clambered inside and threw the sheet into the back seat. He shivered and pulled down his hood, soaked through. Thank fuck the heating worked in this thing. He grabbed the keys from under the seat and pushed them into the ignition. He couldn't see the camera anymore. He'd have to take his chances. Under his breath he counted to ten. He turned the key.

Later that night there were reports of an unknown vehicle speeding through the streets. But no one got a license plate; no one saw who was driving, or even the colour. The storm had been his cover, now he had to find Dean.


	3. Known A Lot Of Canadians

**((thank you to those who have reviewed and stuck with me! I'm really beginning to enjoy writing this story now, so who knows where it'll go! Hopefully you'll like this chapter, please remember to let me know what you think in the comments! Thank you!))**

**INTERSTATE HIGHWAY 84, MAMA'S DINER**

Endless lights flashed by, the highway going on forever to his tired eyes. He could remember when they'd been going the opposite way. How he'd had to keep in the agony of leaving his friend behind, how Seth screamed and yelled for him to stop. He could remember dragging the thief away from Dean. The look that Ambrose gave them both. _See ya later assholes_. It almost made him smile. It had hurt to leave him. They'd always said that it was them against the world. They'd never leave one behind. Never. They'd been given no choice. Dean had stayed because he knew he could distract the Game and his men long enough for his brothers to escape.

He blinked hard to try and wake himself up, one window open despite the storm. There were few cars on the road. Every now and again another would appear out of nowhere, the sound, the lights jerking him back to reality. He should have been used to no sleep, but something about the night exhausted him. He had to get to Kennedy; nothing would stop him, no storm, not even his own needs, his own body. A glance into the rear view mirror showed his worn face and those dark eyes that almost seemed to sink into his own skull.

Seth had been right, when they'd worked for the Game, things had all been good. They'd had easier lives. The three man wrecking crew had destroyed as much as they'd created, and when they'd realized where they were being lead, what the Game wanted them to become, they had to break away. They were fighting for a better world, for a just world, and it became clear when they'd stood up to his mountainous second in command, Kane, that they'd been played.

The wind screen wipers squeaked.

Roman glanced down at the fuel. Running low, too low, not enough to get him to Kennedy. He punched the steering wheel irritably.

'Fuck...' he squinted through the rain at every sign that passed, looking for a gas station. He didn't want to stop. The Game would know. A rumble of thunder broke the sky and for a moment he thought he saw lightning. No, not lightning, another sign that flashed white in the headlights; gas station, five miles then a right. Knowing he had no choice, he signalled and pulled off.

It was a large pit stop with a separate diner, new from the look of it. But Roman wasn't there to appreciate its aesthetics. He pulled up at one of the pumps and a young attendant, his coat over his head dashed over before Roman could get out of the door to refuel himself.

'What'll it be sir? Nice truck, don't make 'em like this anymore, had one like it on my daddy's farm.' He looked over it enthusiastically. Roman glared out the open window at him. The kid took a step back with a slight gulp. 'Shall I fill her up sir?'

A slow nod. Another peel of thunder broke the atmosphere, and this time there was no mistaking the lightning. The rain continued to hammer and Roman knew he was wasting time. The longer he was there, the more likely it was he'd be spotted or someone recognized the truck. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel and watched the dollars roll on up. He had little money. Only what they'd managed to pull from their pockets and what Dean could stuff into their hands before they separated.

Roman glanced over to the diner. It was quiet; he could only see a handful of people through the windows. His stomach clenched and he realized it had been days since he'd eaten last. Any food they'd had he'd given to Seth to try and keep his strength up. Hadn't done much good, anything that went down came up again within minutes. The attendant kept glancing up at him, and Roman did his best to remain in the shadows of the car. He could just be an innocent kid, but he'd learned not to trust anyone.

'Daddy's truck was red, not this nice dark green like yours sir, bit rusty in places, looks like it's been used well! How long ya had it?'

'Week.' Roman muttered. He was pretty sure that Jesse James, the actual owner of the truck would have run over the kids head for daring to suggest there was anything wrong with it. The thing was weathered and unreliable, but it had been his pride and joy. The sheer thought of the rage on Jesse's face was enough to bring a dark smirk to Roman.

'Well that's it sir, all full. That'll be fifty one dollars thirty.'

Roman didn't move. He already knew he didn't have enough. He pulled out the inside of his pockets. Thirty dollars and a couple of dimes wasn't going to get him anywhere. He desperately checked the glove box. Well what do ya know. Jesse's wallet. Roman pulled it open and flicked through the dozens of notes inside. The wicked were paid well. He pulled out a fifty and coupled it with one of his tens.

'Keep the change.'

'Thanks sir!' the kid said brightly – clearly it was the best tip he'd received all day and Roman suddenly felt he'd been too generous. 'Just so ya know it's steak night over in _Mama's,_' he flinched as lightning struck again and pulled his coat a little closer over his head. 'Think the storm's getting worse, might be best to wait it out.'

'I'm in a hurry -,'

'Cos heading into Kennedy I hear there's trees down on the highway, that's where you're heading right sir? No one goes this way 'less they're heading to the city.'

Kid needed his nose ploughed into the dirt. But if he was right, there'd be no way he was getting into the city until everything had been cleared. He couldn't just abandon the truck and go on foot, he didn't know how far it would be and Seth was right, he spent too long in the storm, he'd end up sick too. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Roman grunted and nodded.

'Want me to move your truck for ya sir?'

'No. I got it.'

'Suit yourself sir, want me to come find you if we get any news on those trees?'

A slow nod. Roman put the truck into gear and moved it on over next to the diner. There were two other cars and a bike that had been knocked over by the wind. He parked, and came out next to the bike. The wind and rain bit his face but he stopped and heaved the machine back up right. The truck caught most of the force so perhaps it wouldn't fall again. If it did, not his problem. Dripping wet from only being outside for a minute, Roman stomped through the doors of the diner. It was a red and white affair, with booth tables and a waitress who instantly spotted him. He pulled his hood down a little further as she approached. She was all smiles, bright white teeth and blond hair.

'Hi there! Can I get you a table?'

'Er,' he looked about cautiously. 'Sure.' He couldn't see anyone he recognized but he wasn't taking any chances. He needed to stay out of the way and not show his face.

'If you'll follow me sir, would you like a window seat? Not much of a view tonight but -,'

'Sure.' He cut her off. She didn't seem to mind however and lead him to a table right in the corner, it was just out of the glare of the lights, with high backed seats. No one would see him unless they knew he was there. Perfect. He shifted his bulk and somehow managed to squeeze himself between the table and the seat. It was awkward, he remembered the last time he'd been to a place like this Dean and had spent the whole time flirting with the waitress and stealing other people's food. He'd sworn he'd never go to one again with him, seems he was keeping to that promise.

She handed him a menu. 'My name is Renee and I'll be your server this evening. Can I get you a drink at all?'

The menu was cheap and plastic, but his stomach didn't care.

'We have homemade root beer, it's real good, or coke, coffee...'

'Root beer.'

'Sure.' She said, she was far too cheerful for how fucking quiet it was. For the fact that he possibly looked like the last person you should welcome into a respectable establishment. 'I'll bring that on over for you.'

She disappeared. Roman sniffed. Water dripped from the edge of his hood onto the menu. He didn't like it. He kept looking about but no one was so much as glancing his way. He was cold, pissed off and just wanted to get into the city. It felt like he was wasting his time. His heart felt like someone was chucking it against his ribs. That guy over there – the short order chef, hadn't he seen him before? That long hair looked fucking familiar. Roman narrowed his eyes and didn't even notice when Renee returned.

'Got your drink here,' she said and set it down on the table along with cutlery. 'Did you decide what you wanted? It's steak night. T-bone for ten dollars, done just how you like it.'

'Canadian?'

'How'd you guess?'

'I've known a lot of Canadians.'

She grinned at that and caught a stray hair that had escaped from her little waitress cap, and tucked it behind her ear. 'Gotta admit when I came down to the states it wasn't exactly my big dream to be enthusiastically telling strangers about steak.'

'What did you wanna do?' he actually surprised himself there. Why on earth did he want to know? He didn't care. He had bigger things to do.

'Me?' she too looked rather shocked that someone would ask. 'I, well I wanted to be a journalist.'

'Known a lot of journalists.' Roman muttered.

Renee giggled. The rain changed direction and smacked directly against the window next to them. In the outside light, Roman could see that the bike had tumbled over again. The dark skies seemed to swirl and almost focus on where they were. Renee lent on the table and peered out into the storm.

'It's horrid out there. I'm not looking forward to my shift ending and going out in _that_ that's for sure.'

A set of lights cruised into the parking lot. Roman turned his head away from the window, Renee noticed, but didn't say anything.

'So what can I get ya Mr...?'

'Steak.'

'Fancy that.' She took his menu. 'Comes with fries and a salad. How do ya like your steak?'

'Rare.'

'Still alive then.' She was trying to make him laugh, he could tell, but as the door opened and he heard the sound of scuffing feet on the mat, he lowered his head. She was sweet and seemed to realize something was wrong, because she left without another word. He heard her place his order with the short order chef, who very briefly, glanced Roman's way. He caught his eye. He knew that face. Where did he know that face? He needed to go.

Footsteps.

'How about this table here sir?'

Someone sat down. It wasn't a booth, one of the lone tables floating out on the floor. Roman chanced a look.

Fuck.

The smooth headed man had strong features, and Roman knew beneath the suit, he was not someone you wanted to mess with. In some circles he was known as the King, in others he was simply known for a move that could knock your senses straight out of your skull. His immaculate manner of dress and European accent threw most people off his trail. But Roman knew, oh he knew. The espresso ordering Swiss man had nearly killed Dean multiple times in the past; was the one ordered by the Game to punish those who didn't obey. He ran the underground fight promotions.

Antonio Cesaro.

He watched as Renee set down the cup and saucer next to the well dressed bastard and motioned for her to come on over.

'Everything alright?' she asked, quietly. She was a smart one.

'That man.'

'Mr Cesaro?'

'I can't let him see me Renee,'

'Mr, are you in some kind of trouble?'

Roman leaned in, desperation in his eyes. 'Listen to me, babygirl, I gotta get out of here. Is there any way other than out the entrance?'

Her face softened a little at what he called her. Dean had always teased that he could turn ovaries to goo with a smile and a well timed pet name. Well now was the time to make it happen.

'There's a fire exit out the way of the toilets, it'll set the alarms off though if you open it.'

Roman swore under his breath. The chef cast him another look. He _knew_ that face. How? Where had he seen that man before? It wasn't safe to stay.

'Would you be able to turn it off?'

She looked at him with wide eyes. He realized what he was asking her.

'I can't just turn the alarm off.'

'Listen,' he caught her hand in his two huge mitts, his dark eyes looked up into hers from under that hood. That velvet voice was urgent. 'I wouldn't ask you to do this unless it was actually a matter of me getting my head kicked in and your nice floor getting all bloody. Which it is. Please. I need your help Renee.'

She bit her lip, and glanced over her shoulder to where Cesaro sat, sipping his espresso.

'I could...perhaps...set the alarm off to begin with, you could get out in the confusion, maybe?'

He squeezed her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it lightly. Her nails were painted scarlet.

'Thank you.'

'But first, tell me your name.'

He was hesitant.

'I'm not doing something that could get me fired unless the man asking me to do it at the very _least_ tells me his name.' She pulled her hand away and put them both on her hips, eyebrows raised. Cesaro had finished his drink and clicked for her attention. She looked over her shoulder, winked, smiled. 'One second sir.' She turned back. 'Name, mr.'

'Roman. It's Roman.'

'Well It's Roman. I hope you're worth this.'

She walked away and he wasn't sure, but he thought she wiggled her ass at him. He put his head in his hand. He knew it was a stupid idea coming in here. He should have taken his chances with the storm and the trees. He'd wasted his time, Seth's time. Who knew what state he could be in back in that freezing warehouse? He could be dying and here he was sat in a fucking diner having to beg someone to get him out.

'Coming right up.' He heard Renee say.

He saw her disappear behind the counter, out to the backroom. Suddenly a harsh siren like noise started to sound. Ceasaro looked about him, got out of his seat and went to the counter. Roman stood and dashed to where the toilet doors were. He pushed his way on through. Four doors. Far end, one on the left that presumably lead to the kitchen, the toilets on the right. The fire exit sign was illuminated over the one at the end. Roman made for it, but found his way blocked as the left hand door swung open.

The short order chef stood in his way.

'I knew I recognized you Reigns, and when you bolted, I couldn't make it easy for you.'

Roman stood firm, legs planted, hands opened and closed, his eyes on his opponent. The man held a spatula. Not the most intimidating of weapons.

'You don't know who I am, do you?'

Silence.

'This happens every time...' the chef muttered, and pulled off his chef's hat. That hair, those eyes, that forehead...

Silence.

'Oh come on! Shawn Michaels? The Heartbreak Kid? The Game's best friend and former partner in crime?'

Roman looked at him blankly.

'Ok so it was a few years ago, and when I said I wanted to retire I didn't expect him to land me here cooking up steak for whatever washed in but I always said I'd be loyal to him! He told me about you.' He waved his spatula threateningly in Roman's direction. 'Told me to keep an eye out. And I did, and here you are. He's gonna be so proud of me.'

Roman wasn't sure if this man was senile or just completely deranged, but he didn't have time for this. He made to shove the chef aside but to his astonishment, found him blocking the attempt with ease and shoving Roman back again.

'Not this way hoss.' He said with a cocky smirk. 'This old man still knows how to take on bucks like you.'

Roman gritted his teeth, and charged once again, he raised his right fist, but it only found air. Michaels moved like lightning and caught him with an elbow to the ear. Roman stumbled, hand to his head, his eyes blurred. With a roar he charged again, this time aimed for the mid-section, but Michaels dodged and brought a knee crashing up into Roman's jaw. He stumbled back, but somehow managed to catch the kick aimed at his head, only to receive one from the other foot a second later. He found himself on his back, bells rung as the older man stood over him with glee.

'I did it. I caught Roman Reigns. I'll be remembered for this.' He pointed the spatula at him once again and it shone cruelly in the light. 'Bet Hunter will be even happier with me once I've rammed this down your throat. You know I've missed this,' he said nostalgically. His face almost looked serene. 'Guess when you've been away from all the madness and violence for a while you kinda fall into routine, day after day doing the same things over and over...but not anymore! Hunter will have me back, just like that when I present your sorry carcass to him!' he put a foot on Roman's chest and leaned forward, 'Now say ahhh...'


	4. Claiming The Gold

**((once again thank you to everyone who has been reading this! I hope you're all still enjoying it, here's another chapter for you! Let me know what you think! I will continue trying to update the story every day as work allows))**

**Mama's Diner**

There was a sharp clang, and for a moment Michaels didn't move. Then, he dropped the spatula, gripped his head in agony and slumped against the wall.

Roman stared up in surprise, and found Renee standing over him, frying pan in hand. She looked shocked, shaken. He was on his feet and grabbed her by the arm.

'Come on, we have to go.'

'I, is he alright? I mean I didn't kill him did I?' she looked at the frying pan uneasily. 'I didn't know what to do, I just thought, I don't know what I was thinking.'

Michaels groaned, and shook his head, but his senses already seemed to be returning. Roman took Renee's hand and dragged her behind him, back through the door into the diner. He slammed the door shut and threw his weight up against it as Michaels tried to hammer his way through from the other side. Renee backed away from him, frying pan still in hand.

'What do we do?'

'Nothing. You do nothing.'

Cesaro. He was behind her and before she could react, he snatched the weapon from her grasp, and one arm was around her neck, tight. Roman's gut clenched, teeth gritted. He shouldn't have come here. Now she was in harm's way and it was his fault. 'Come away from the door Reigns.'

Roman didn't move.

Cesaro constricted his hold on Renee. She gasped, hands clawed at his arm, her desperate eyes were fixed on Roman, pleading. Behind the door Michaels seemed to be kicking, blows that shouldn't have come from someone as small as he was.

'Fuck.' Roman hissed. Cesaro had him beaten and didn't even have to land a blow. Slowly he let go of the handle.

'That's it.' the Swiss man moved his head toward the window. 'This way Reigns. Small steps.'

With murder in his eyes, he did as he was told. Small steps. Small fucking steps. Every single one felt like it took minutes. The door smacked open and Michaels appeared, he looked a little worse for wear but it seemed even a crack shot to the skull wasn't about to keep him down. His hair was dishevelled and lines creased his forehead, but there was something about his eyes. They almost looked younger for having his head smacked in. Roman's fists clenched.

'No no, your hands higher, where I can see them Reigns.'

His eye twitched a little, but he brought his great hands up in front of them, palms open. Michaels scooted round his side to stand next to Cesaro, he was practically bouncing on his toes.

'Hunter's gonna be so pleased.' He didn't seem to be talking to anyone else.

Cesaro's mouth curled into a sick smirk. 'Oh yes. Yes he will. Find something to restrain Mr Reigns with. Can't have him getting away and someone else claiming the gold now, can we?'

Thunder rumbled above them, the lights flickered, and Cesaro glanced about him, Roman made to move, but the Swiss man tightened his hold on the waitress.

'Stay there.' He warned. 'It would be a shame to ruin something so pretty, but I will. If you force me.'

Renee, for all the panic in her eyes, was somehow keeping herself together.

'It's going to be alright Renee,' Roman locked his gaze on her, 'you're going to get out of this, everything's gonna be fine, I promise.'

She swallowed and gave him a shaky nod.

Michaels seemed to have disappeared, only to come back seconds later. He had a roll of cellophane in his hands.

'Hands behind.' Cesaro ordered.

Roman grimaced, but did so. Michaels however seemed to struggle with finding the end of the wrap and stood there, picking at it with his fingernails, muttering to himself. Another blast of thunder, louder this time. The whole room seemed to shake, lights swung, blacking out once more, before relighting. The gap was getting longer, and the darkness they were plunged in was thick. The older man seemed to have finally found the end, and under Cesaro's annoyed glare, he proceeded to knot it around Roman's wrists tightly. The sound of it coming away from the roll set his teeth on edge, the wrap found itself winding what felt like hundreds of times about his hands, locking his fingers into place. Michaels tried to wrap it around his chest, but failed when his arms couldn't reach.

'That'll do Shawn.' It was difficult to tell if the tone was pitying or pissed off. 'Now. We're going for a ride, all of us. The Game will be pleased to see you, I'm sure of that.'

'Let her go. You have me, she's nothing to do with this.' He wasn't asking.

'No. Just to make sure you behave, we're going to take Miss Renee with us.' Cesaro moved toward the door, but paused when he noticed the counter once again. He manoeuvred the two of them back toward it. His free hand reached out, and Roman noticed there was loose change on the surface – he must have been about to leave when the alarm went off. Michaels pushed him forward; Roman glared over his shoulder at him. Michaels didn't seem to care, and tugged Roman's hood, which by some miracle had stayed up, down to his shoulders. His hair fell free and tumbled loose too. Renee stared at him.

Cesaro snatched up his money from the counter, but as he did, his arm loosened a little on Renee's throat. Quick as a ferret, she bit down, one hand out toward the counter, her hand gripped around the handle of the heavy silver tea pot that sat there. Without thinking twice, she hurled it round. There was a sickening crack as it made contact with Cesaro's chiselled jaw. Tea flew from the mouth as the lid dislodged. Some of it hitting Michaels on the side of the face. Thunder.

Lights out.

'Come on!' he felt a hand on his arm, guide him fast to the door as their captors cried out in agony. The door opened and closed, the little bell letting the bastards know their catch was escaping. The outdoor lights flashed back on. They were soaked within seconds. 'Which one is yours?' Renee demanded.

'The truck.'

She dashed on over and opened the driver's side, clambered in and kicked the passenger side open when it stuck. 'Get in dammit get in!' she cried.

He hurled himself forward, somehow managed to scramble into the seat, the door was left swinging as Renee found the keys in the sun visor, started her up and pulled away. Cesaro and Michaels, left in the dirt and the rain, cursing their luck.

Roman struggled to sit up right. He had to give the old man credit; he'd done one hell of a job. The cellophane was better than any cuffs. It was twisted and cut into his wrists; he'd wrapped it around his fingers so tightly he could feel circulation dying. The door swung shut as Renee turned back onto the Interstate. She refused to look at him, refused to talk. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes on the road. The red and yellow waitress uniform was wet through from their short time in the down pour, she'd lost her cap. Her long hair had tumbled down from its bun and hung messily around her shoulders. The truck lights barely broke through the rain, her nose was over the steering wheel. But she knew what she was doing. She'd driven motors like this before.

He couldn't feel his hands. He shifted uncomfortably. She seemed to notice, finally and looked across at him, before she swiftly returned her eyes to the road.

'We should get you out of that.' She muttered. She indicated and brought them to a halt on the hard shoulder. But she didn't let go of the wheel, fingers clutched so tightly around it he thought she might tear it from the dashboard. 'What happened in there Roman?' she stared ahead of her. 'Why did they want to hurt you?' her arms relaxed and she turned in her seat to face him. Those hazel eyes locked onto him with such intensity he didn't dare look away. 'Who are you?'

He tried to shift his wrists into view.

'Saw a knife in the glove box earlier.'

She found it, and seconds later, he was free of his bonds. He rubbed his wrists tenderly. The blood rush back into his fingers made them tingle, feel heavy.

'You're bleeding.' She reached out, touched his forehead where Michael's had kicked him. Roman didn't even flinch. She pushed his wet hair away from his forehead. 'Shawn always was so nice to me...I never thought he'd be capable of hurting someone.'

'We're all capable.' Roman caught her wrist as she tried to properly look at the cut. He'd not even notice the dribble of blood that ran down the side of his face. 'I'm fine.'

'You're fine? That's great Roman. That's really great. Because I'm not fine. I'm not fine at all and I think I'm having a minor freak out here. Tell me why all that happened.'

'It's nothing to do with you.'

Wrong answer.

Her slap knocked his head so hard it near smacked the window. In astonishment, he touched his jaw, eyes wide, and stared at her. Her hand was raised, ready to attack again.

'How _dare_ you tell me it's nothing to do with me! It became my business as soon as you got me involved! He could have killed me!' she lowered her hand and touched her throat gently; 'I could have died in there because of you, and you won't even tell me why.'

The rain spat the windows. Roman found his eyes on the highway once again, the memories of the past three months scrolled through his mind. It wasn't something he wanted to share. They'd kept themselves to themselves. Their problems were theirs. As soon as other people got involved it became too complicated. But she was right.

He'd made it her business.

'My name is Roman Reigns. With my brothers, I was a part of the Shield.'


	5. The Grinning Man

**(( here's chapter five for you my lovelies! Thank you to those who have chosen to follow this story, and who have given me such positive comments! Hopefully you'll continue to enjoy what's to come. ))**

**HARRISON**

They were such haunting dreams. They jerked and twisted, switched with every thunder crash, every flash of lightning through those dusty windows. Dust clogged his nose and throat. Curled up as close to the dying embers as he dared, his fitful sleep made worse by the fever, he shook. The sweat ran over his skin, despite the cold of the endless shadows. The warehouse wasn't made to keep criminals warm. How and when he'd fallen into such a dark slumber he wasn't aware. But the visions that crawled though his brain constricted every nerve, made his heart collide with his ribs. He muttered and his body tensed and contorted. The world had never felt so frozen.

He could see them, all together, stood in black, fists together in victory over some fallen foe. He could see it all; remembered every battle, every drop of blood that he'd cleaned, the haphazard stitches he'd sown. There were those who had tried to rise up, those hearts they'd stomped into the dirt, that rebellion they'd rained down on, the ideas they'd picked apart. Caught on a ride fuelled by their own desire for justice, they'd not known they were being shown the wrong evils. He saw it. Felt every second. Remembered the moment when they'd realized, finally, what they'd done.

The mistake they'd made.

_ They called him the Devil's Favourite Demon. Long before the Game seized control, there was one man feared by all. The one who burned people alive, who electrocuted, who buried alive; his crimes were so great, that only one could have destroyed him. The very man who'd suffered his violence most of all; equally twisted, equally evil, the one known as the Undertaker. But Kane's devotion was bought by the Game. Bought by the blood spilled when the Hounds were set loose. They'd called themselves the Shield. They fought for justice. They were shown everything that the Undertaker had ever done, shown that if he were controlled, Kane would be a great ally. They did the dirty work. Took out the Undertaker, and anyone who dared question the authority of the Game. _

_ Their egos grew, they started to implode. _

_ But one moment brought them down from space. _

_ They'd bitten back so many times, answering to no one other than the Game, they disliked Kane's ambition. They'd snapped, they'd taunt. Petulant children against the machine. He'd threatened them countless times. But they were unafraid. Always so unafraid. That was their strength, their core. _

_ They were fearless._

_ There he stands. Cowering in the corner, accused of something everyone knows he has not done. They're brought in to issue the punishment. They circle. Kane watches with those dead eyes and he laughs. He thinks he knows how it will all play out. How the old man will be left in a bloody heap, barely breathing, broken in so many ways. He thinks he knows. _

_ To harm a man who has done no wrong, there's no justice in that._

_ Finally, they broke the leash that had choked them for so long. But a man like Kane is not so easily destroyed._

Thunder rumbled through his veins. Pain swelled in his gut. Head felt as if it were about to explode. Every rain drop was another hammer strike to the skull. Behind his eyelids, he saw fire. He saw destruction. His brothers' bodies laid out from a thousand strikes. He could taste the old blood on his tongue. Felt fingers in his hair and boots in his ribs. Bile rose in his throat. Half conscious, he turned, felt the acid spill over his lips and splatter next to him like the red they'd all spat. They'd splintered Dean's teeth. They'd buckled his legs. They'd broken Roman's ribs. Their pride in shatters.

The resolution steeled.

_They'd bred soldiers for their petty fights. They'd called mercenaries to damage their 'property'. They'd begun a war that would last until the end of days. No one came to help the men who'd destroyed them all. No one heard their agony. No one cared. But they heard one another, carried, crawled and dragged themselves back together. They found their broken pieces and sowed them into place. A brotherhood forged in the fires of some begotten hell is not so easily demolished. Knowing that they would forever stand alone, they had to make a choice._

_ There stood the Game. Two lieutenants at his side. Snake like. Bestial_

_They'd fought like demons. With everything they'd had. They'd been forced to watch as the three delivered painful retribution on Roman's back; as the sledgehammer rearranged Dean's jaw. But they'd come out triumphant. There was that feeling, that burning, that white hot spark that made them the dominating force. He could feel it smouldering inside, rising like smoke up, up through is entire being._

His eyes flickered open. The smell of his own vomit made him gag. The world wouldn't focus, his breath wouldn't come. The heat had gone, and he found his body gripped in spasm. He tried to roll, to move at all. Cold. So very, very cold. How much time had passed? How long had Roman been gone? He tried to blink away the blurriness. He felt confused, lost. Lightning burst through the higher windows. Disorientated, he cried out, what ground he'd managed to gain stumbled out from under his feet. He panted, body backed up against crates, the blanket forgotten at the foot of the smoulders. 

_There, in the shadows. The grinning man, sights set on him. He could see the promise in his eyes. _

Dreams broke his reality, he tried to stand, to do what he was told, to hide from what he saw. But his legs couldn't hold him; he collapsed not far from where he'd stood. He could hear the cold laughter as he crawled further from the light, from the warmth. That howl, it hunted him through whistling gaps in the walls. He could hear them whisper. Could hear them coming for him.

_You have a choice Seth. _

_You always had a choice. You're the Architect. You built them. You know how to knock them down. You can be remembered, or you can remember their blood staining your hands, when you didn't stop what will happen, what I'll do. You have a choice Seth. Make the right one. _

'Leave me alone!' his hands gripped the sides of his head. His eyes clenched shut. Shaking, the whole world was shaking, some earthquake puncturing his mind. The storm bored through his skull. It blackened his blood; it rained down through his senses. He screamed and he buckled. Voices. Images. Choices.

That weak heart. It could barely cope. Taken a handful of misery for a chance of saving what he loved. He'd stood alone. He'd done what he thought he had to. They'd never wanted him again. But when it had fallen apart, when he'd waited every single day for his end to come, when he'd worn out his usefulness and his false ego had deflated, they'd carried him. Dragged him from the pit he'd fallen into. His brothers. They didn't forgive. They chose to forget, to move on and rebuild. Because that's who they were. That's what they did.

One step closer to immortality, and further from the truth.

They stole so much from the Game.

Seth's body crumpled, caught in a patch of darkness. The sound of his own heart seemed to vibrate from the floor through the walls. A great crash. But there was no light. Numbly, he barely lifted his head from the floor toward the noise. The door. Another. Louder. Closer. Windows, shadows. He tried to crawl, tried to hide. Something, someone was coming. They knew. How did they know he was there?

Another crash. His fingertips and sweating palms somehow dragged him behind some crates. The shadows covered him as the door smashed open.

_Be safe, brother_.


	6. We Bite Different

**(( we're finally back to Dean for this chapter, and I know some of you really wanted to know what happened to him. Sorry I took so long to answer your curiosities! Please enjoy ))**

**KENNEDY**

It was a strange thing to stare up into complete darkness. He could have been blind. But he knew they weren't so kind; mercy wasn't a luxury they afforded, especially for him. Mercy. He could remember that. Somewhere in his memories someone showed it to him. A helping hand to pull him from the stark white world he'd become imprisoned in. He remembered the face and the smile and the eyes because he knew them so well. The one who'd stabbed him in the back, who'd set his broken jaw and protected him because they were brothers. Yes. He remembered. He couldn't forget. Memories were what he had and what he used because he pushed them aside so often. They were his weapons. People tried to use them against him, picked apart his history to find the tastiest pieces to try and force down his throat.

But that just made him thirsty for blood. He got it too, on his hands, in his mouth. Afterward he'd stand with his brothers.

Memories, like the last time he'd seen them. He could almost hear Seth's screams as Roman forced him to leave. Dean was hurt. He'd be too slow. He'd drag them down, but he could stay long enough, do enough to let them escape. And like Houdini, he'd disappeared into the endless night of Kennedy. He'd defied them. He could remember watching from rooftops and alleyways as the men who wore the suits and swung their cocks like fucking sledgehammers walked high and mighty. As the terror and hate continued from the hands of the suits, and not from the Hounds.

His face felt swollen. Shit. Better not have ruined his pretty mug.

The fact he couldn't touch it didn't bother him. What did was when he couldn't sit up, when he found that the roof was so much closer than it should have been, when his nose was mere inches from something solid. No space. No room. He kicked out, both legs as one against the wall, toward the ceiling.

'Let me fucking out!' he snarled. A box, caught in a fucking box. Oh he knew boxes. Spent half his life in one when his Ma gave up and loved bath water more than him. He'd found her, they'd blamed him, said he'd done it. Bang! Went the doors, out the barred windows went freedom and came forth the placards. _What do you see when you look at this picture?_ He saw stars. All he wanted to see were the stars. Out on the cold streets you could look up and find freedom studded to the sky. Locked away, strapped up you found nothing but the white staring down at you. He'd traded blankness for darkness here. Another kick, pain in his legs, panic in his motions. He'd fought them all until they'd punctured his skin and injected slobber mouthed calm. Too small. Too enclosed. There were no stars in here.

He continued to kick. He couldn't feel his hands. Didn't matter. Feet were just as good as fists. No matter which way he turned he was met with walls. His heart felt too fast, his breathing too quick. He screwed up his eyes.

'GET ME OUT OF HERE.' He roared.

Rattling. A click. The ceiling pulled away from him. Rain hit his face. But all he could find was darkness. The cold air gave him comfort, that shot of calm. He could feel them stare down at him, their shit eating grins.

'So he's awake.'

'What gave you that idea toots?' Ambrose growled in response. Something came away from his eyes. He blinked hard, as everything came into colour and ugly definition. A quick glance found him in the boot of a car. Further inspection found Dave and Randy smirking down at him.

'I always wondered if lunatics screamed the same as normal people.'

'We bite different. I'm not a lunatic. Got a shiny certificate to prove it.' He couldn't help it. He was programmed that way; in your face and not giving a shit. Seth and Roman had somehow found their way behind it, knew there was more to him than a short circuited brain and a razor tongue. Dave and Randy weren't getting the Dean Ambrose Deluxe package. They weren't even worth economy. Randy reached in. Dean, quick, caught his hand between his jaws, bit down so hard he felt knuckles pop and blood on his teeth. The viper eyed man howled in agony and Dave's own fist broke apart Dean's grip. He collapsed back down into the car, and cackled with red lips.

'I'm gonna kill him! I'm gonna fucking kill him.' Randy gripped his hand against his stomach, back turned as he tried to cope with the pain. 'He's an animal, we should throw him back in that bedlam we dragged him from. Wipe that fucking smirk off his face. Fucker. Fucking bastard.'

'Any problem?' new voice, old shit. The Game came into view, umbrella held over his head by his pet kiss ass, JBL. Man was a genius with numbers; man liked his cosy pay checks. He did anything the Game asked of him. Dean hated everything about him, from that stupid hat down to his ostrich skin boots.

Randy struggled to control himself and Dean shot the big boss a wide eyed grin. Showed off his stained whites.

'Nothing here officer, we're all dandy.'

He was ignored. The Game put a hand on Randy's shoulder, whispered something that Dean couldn't make out. But he saw the viper's head turn, those narrow eyes on him, that sickle mouth grin returning so sharp he felt a lapse in confidence.

'Sharing secrets with your girlfriend Hunter? Won't Stephanie be jealous?'

The Game finally turned to look down at him in his little prison. His godless eyes looked over the bound legs and body, the line of blood from the mouth and the pale face. All the while, he never stopped that smile.

'For someone so, inconvenienced, you've got a lot to say Ambrose.' He rubbed his chin and sucked his teeth. 'Makes a man wonder if you realize just what a predicament you're in. What we could do to you. I heard you scream Ambrose, you don't like being locked in a box do you? Too small. So enclosed. Must be hard to breathe in there.' He shook his head, mock sympathetically. 'Perhaps we should find you something smaller, something underground.'

He couldn't hide the terror which crept into his eyes. The shake that rippled through his body. The rain didn't feel half as cold as the mere thought of what the Game suggested.

'But don't worry. That will come later. And if I'm feeling kind, you won't even know you're there.' His face almost looked good humoured. But then it collapsed. 'I've had word, Ambrose. Of a friend of yours. Seems Roman's just too big a man to hide. I have people Ambrose. They're hunting him now. You'll have company soon.'

'You touch him, you fucking hurt him I'll rip your entrails through your throat. You hear me Hunter? Touch one strand of that beautiful fucking mane, and all you'll know is my arm clawing your heart out. I'll destroy you. And I'll enjoy it. Every second. I'll love the feel of your fat, black, un-beating heart as I crush it. It'll be delicious. So fucking delicious.' Dean kicked at the side of the boot, struggled in his bonds.

'Did you hear that gentlemen? I believe that was a threat on my life.' The Game turned to look at JBL. 'Don't you think so?'

'Yes sir. It was sir. Couldn't have heard a more blatant one in my life! He's a lunatic! Should be locked up.'

The Game nodded slowly, seemingly to like the idea.

'I'll have my fun Ambrose. You'll give me what I want to know. But first, there's somewhere special I think we should visit. Somewhere you might remember,' he tapped the side of his face and then leaned forward, his tie slipped from his jacket and stroked Dean's face. 'Somewhere, where you have old friends. I wonder if they've still got your old room.'

Dean turned his head. Bit down onto the tie and manically started to chomp, chewing it down, pulling the Game closer, closer. He came so close to biting that smirk right off. What satisfaction he could have had. But JBL had to ruin his fun. He managed to snip the thing right off the Game's throat, who breathing heavily, enraged, rammed the thing as hard as he could into Dean's jaws.

'Take him to St. Jude's. I want him on a fucking gurney. I want him lobotomized. Anything I want we can have from his brothers when I get my hands on them. I want this fucking lunatic _destroyed_.' He turned on his heel and marched away.

Dean laughed as the rain and the sky disappeared, and his world slammed shut.


	7. Partners In Crime

**((wow! Over four hundred views! Thank you everyone for taking the time to investigate my little story, I intend to try and properly develop it into something bigger so watch this space! Please continue to let me know what you think!))**

**INTERSTATE HIGHWAY 84**

'What did you steal from him?' she'd sat there, and never interrupted him. The occasional shiver would roll down her body from his words. When he'd told her about what they'd done to his back, concern flashed through her eyes. This Renee girl, she was something else, because rather than ask him why any of it had happened, she wanted to know what the catalyst was.

Roman didn't answer her. He'd rubbed his hands feverishly and now they felt red raw. There were some things he would have to keep from her. If she knew what they'd done, he knew she would be in danger too. Who was he kidding? He'd pretty much pulled her headlong into their mess. But if he could keep her away from it all, never see her again, she could be safe. The whole time they'd been sat there, he could hear the engine running, and now finally, he reached over her, and pulled the key from the ignition. He'd have to take her home, he could hardly drag her all the way to Kennedy. He'd have enough trouble trying to keep himself safe, let alone her. She looked at him with those eyes and he found himself unable to meet her. She wanted answers, and he just couldn't give them to her.

'Ok Roman. Don't tell me. I understand. This has nothing to do with me right? What is it with men and their stupid crusades? With their 'oh no, the woman can't get involved, she might come to harm or do something stupid' attitudes. Well I'm not going to sit here and forget about tonight. Do you think Mr Cesaro will? I damn near dented that pretty face of his and I don't think he's going to forgive me in a hurry. Shawn too. I can see it in your face you want to get rid of me. Well tough luck. I'm staying with you. If only to make sure your sorry ass doesn't get killed. You may be pretty Roman, but you're missing brain cells.'

'S'where your mate kicked me in the head.' he muttered. She was wilful. Any other time he might have thought it an attractive trait, but now he didn't need it. Because she was right, he wasn't the smartest. That had always been Seth. He'd been the one to plan the attacks and the strategy. Even Dean came up with explosive ideas when they needed them. Roman was the executioner. He made things happen. The one time he'd tried to plan something without their interference, they found themselves outnumbered eleven to one. It hadn't been quick, and it hadn't been pretty. Renee had a sharp tongue he knew Dean would fancy in a heartbeat. But he knew from her actions at the diner, she was smart. She wasn't complacent. The diner hadn't been what she wanted to do with her life, but then he doubted joining three rogues on the run was high on the bucket list. 'If you stay with me Renee, chances are you won't see next week the way things are going for us.'

She gave him a very small smile, and patted his arm. 'Working at Ma's for five years almost drove me mad. In the past couple of hours, I felt alive. In a lot of danger, but alive. I want to carry on feeling that. Even if it's not for long. I trust you Roman, and I thank you for your honesty so far. I think you're a good man and your brothers are good men too. I want to help you.'

He was very quickly beginning to wonder if calling her smart had been a grave mistake. Perhaps she was a psycho bitch who got off on danger. He really would have to introduce her to Dean at some point. If he ever found him. They'd wasted so much time sitting there. His tired eyes caught sight of the watch on her wrist. Morning was only hours away. He had to get to Dean...or he had to return to Seth. A thought struck him, small, maybe even insignificant, but it was one that grabbed his tongue before he could stop it.

'Do you know how to look after sick people?'

'Define sick.'

'Shaking, vomiting, possibly dying.'

'As well as the next person I suppose, my mum was a nurse. She taught me a few things. But I don't know if -,'

'Do you think you could keep someone alive until help arrives?'

'Roman you're asking a lot of me.'

'I know. I know, but Seth doesn't have long. He needs someone to help him and I don't know how. Dean's the one who knows backstreet doctors; I have to track him down in Kennedy. If you could keep watch over Seth, do what you can to keep him going, it might buy me some more time.' the hand that was on his arm, squeezed. She didn't know him. She could have so easily said no. But she swallowed and nodded.

'I guess I'll do what I can. But what happens if someone finds us?'

'You hide. You both hide and you do everything you can to make sure they don't.' His eyes flicked out to the road as a car cruised past, but it didn't stop. 'If they do Renee, I can't say what will happen.'

She shuddered, 'I suppose I did say you were stuck with me. Where is he?'

'Warehouse 13 in Harrison, the door will be locked but you should be able -,'

'Oh don't worry about that! My mama didn't raise a fool Roman,' she pulled a bobby pin from her blond hair. 'Our old porch door used to chew up keys, so we had to improvise.' She gave him a beaming smile. She really was an attractive young woman. Any other time... 'But what about you? If I take the truck to Harrison, how are you going to get to Kennedy? Hitch a lift? Somehow I don't think so.'

'There was a bike back at the diner. I could make my way on that.'

'Don't be stupid. In this?' she gestured out to the ongoing rain. It seemed to have subsided a little and they hadn't been interrupted by thunder recently. Perhaps it was moving off. The abrupt drum blast that light up the sky proved otherwise.

'Well what do you recommend huh?' he was starting to get frustrated. Anything he suggested she was shooting down without so much as a bat of those stupidly long eye lashes. He could practically see the cogs working in that head of hers. 'Because I don't see a whole lot of options right now.'

'You could...no it's too risky.'

'What?'

'If he's still there...you could stow away in the back of Mr Cesaro's car. He'll probably head straight into Kennedy to talk to his boss man...if you were quick...'

It was a fucking suicidal plan.

But he didn't have a better, less dangerous one.

'So back to the diner?'

'I guess so...' she looked a little unsure. 'Roman are you sure about this?'

'Well my idea sucked and nothing better has been offered. We don't have time to sit here and come up with something better. My brother is sick. He needs help. That's all the justification I need to jump into enemy territory. Besides, it's a smart plan, no one will be alerted if Cesaro is the one who pulls on up. It just might make it a little easier to avoid detection.' He looked down at the hand that held him, and took it in his own, shaking it gently.

'Looks like we're partners in crime miss Renee.'

She chuckled. 'Won't my mother be proud?'

Roman handed her back the truck keys. He was pretty damn sure he'd just lost his mind agreeing to all of this, but he didn't have a choice anymore. She'd taken it all out of his hands. She said he trusted him. He was going to have to learn to do the same pretty fucking quick. The truck rumbled to life. He had to hope Cesaro was still there, and he was in a co-operative mood, otherwise this plan would end bloody, before it had even begun.


	8. Somewhere Safe

**((and within on chapter, we jump to nearly six hundred! This is fantastic! Thank you everyone for your continued support! I'd love to know what you all think of what's happened so far!))**

**HARRISON**

The door swung against its hinges. Wind screamed through, sought out every corner of the warehouse and froze life. Rain stepped in and tattooed the floor with damp. He could see, somehow, through the tiniest of gaps between the unmarked crates. His legs felt numb, useless. There was no way of hiding someone had been there, even now, the last trails of smoke licked over the edge of the old bin. That blanket he'd abandoned. He'd sealed his own fate, if they found him. He didn't have the energy for cat and mouse. That doorway was empty. No one stepped through. The shadows who'd played him had left the windows. He was sure he could feel his own ribs rattle with every unsteady breath. He spied looks as best he could. His brain felt constricted, he felt like he didn't want to wait for this demise. Something had to give. Something had to break. He closed his eyes, his head against the crate, head tilted toward the ceiling. He didn't have the strength.

If he tried, he could see his old apartment. He could remember the luxury, the warmth as he lay in his own bed. How he could rise when he wanted and not when something terrible was going to happen. He could remember the money coming in for every job they did. He missed the safety. Perhaps he could stop the pain, stop time if he willed all the shit away. He was sick. He was tired. He'd had fucking enough. His body was shutting down and he fucking hated himself for it. He could have fallen into the deepest of sleeps once again and locked himself away, comatose and he wasn't sure he'd miss life. It wasn't fun anymore. He didn't get that buzz from defying the Game like he first had. Maybe he'd had selfish reasons for abandoning his brothers the first time. But his guilt, his weakness and that damn noble heart had brought him to his knees once again. If only he could cut himself to pieces and throw a set to that howling wind. But which would he chose to keep? The good, or the bad?

Seth shivered. His eyes opened. Realizing he'd fallen asleep again, he panicked. Turned and looked through the gap as best he could.

The door had closed.

His heart hammered. Shit. Shit! His body rolled against the crate behind him. The silence was deafening and his own breathing gave him away. He tried to hear, listen for signs of movement, but the rain defied him. His old boots were thin on the heel, quiet to move on. But Roman had said to him to hide, not to confront. But he didn't know if hiding was safe, was anywhere in this man trap safe? He couldn't stop his body shaking, the ice that crawled through those heavy veins. He'd been the fastest of them all once. He'd been an aerial genius. He hated the ground. He was used to the heights, to the rooftops and the skylines. Not stuck somewhere so low.

Half dizzy and risking it all, he turned and looked up at the crates. If he could, if he could climb them, he'd be able to see more, know who was hunting him, if anyone was beyond his own paranoia. Yes. That was what he had to do. His hands scraped that blonde and brown hair behind his ears. His mouth tasted of vomit as he stood, feet unsteady and almost tumbled through the crates, but he clung on. He'd have to move fast. He somehow managed to get a foot and arms up. His arms trembled and he cursed just how weak he felt. The first crate down, he was already several feet from the floor, reaching for the next when he had to stop.

'Seth...I know you're here Seth...'

His eyes widened in fear. No no no. Not here. Not now. He looked up. There was so far to go. He managed to clasp the edge of the next crate, strained and pulled. His lungs heart and he found himself unable to go any further. But he couldn't dull his breathing. His pulse which throbbed through the crates, that shook his entire being.

'We found Dean Seth...'

'No.' He couldn't stop himself, quiet as it was. He could be bluffing. Dean was so good at staying out of sight, but he took chances...had they really found him? This was all his fault. This was all his fucking fault. He swallowed down his guilt. The first footsteps. They belonged to a giant. He knew them, knew the man they belonged to. The demon that walked the earth. He was sure fire burned the ground he trod. He knew what came with him. He knew what it had taken to defeat him before. He remembered their defiance and knew there would be nothing holding him back. No love lost. Nothing to make it easier.

'We're taking him somewhere safe, somewhere he can't hurt himself or anyone else Seth. Do you remember where? Of course you do. You were the one who took him away in the first place. Do you remember Seth?'

He licked his dry lips. Of course he remembered. How he'd been when he found him, trussed up in some straitjacket, alone in a room, sweat down his face, body bruised, feral and untrusting. It had taken some time, so much trust to build...Dean had broken when he betrayed him. He'd told him he'd loved him. Seth closed his eyes, could feel his grip slipping as dizziness caught him again. He had to hold on. He had to get higher. Had to stay out of sight. He had to, he had to. Thunder snapped him to life. Seth shook his head, tried to throw the confusion away. Kane was just trying to get into his head. Trying to get him to give the game away. He couldn't let it work. He couldn't. He gritted his teeth and somehow, managed to pull himself up once again. He only had a narrow ledge to stand on, and if he lost his balance...

'The Game wants him lobotomized. Take away what little bit of sanity he still has. I'm sure Mr Regal will be more than happy to end his misery. Don't you think?'

Seth froze. The footsteps were so close. Just the other side of the crates he was hiding behind. He could feel something rise in his throat; that urge to vomit burning his mouth like acid. He could almost see those eyes. He could almost hear the smirk. How high up was he? High enough. If he fell...

'I've been told to come and get you Seth. You can hide all you want, but I will find you Seth, I'll always find you.'

The footsteps stopped. Kane knew. He fucking knew and Seth didn't know how but the demon had always had a second sense, like he could hear the blood moving through your veins, like it was the most delicious thing in the world to him. The misery, the pain and the fear fed him. He was afraid of him. He always had been, and now, Seth braced himself against the crate he hid behind. There were a couple on top. They could have had anything in them. He started to push, he pushed and pushed with what little strength he still had. He could feel consciousness ebbing with the effort. There was the sound of wood shunting along wood. It gave way.

Seth collapsed in the space left. He wearily crawled forward, hands on the edge and peered over. Boxes were smashed, wood was strewn everywhere. Something precious broken there, something bent to the left. Lightning flashed through the windows and Seth realized, to his horror, no Kane.

'Hello Seth...'


	9. A Night Of Firsts

**((I have a very busy weekend ahead of me, so whilst I will try to update every day, if I don't manage to, please don't hate me! I'll make it up to you, promise!))**

**MAMA'S DINER**

He almost felt reluctant to let her have the truck. He'd grown attached to it in their rogue travels. It may have conked out at the worst of times, guzzled their money away and been more noticeable than they needed, but it had served them well. Perhaps if all went well, he'd meet Jesse James' truck once again. He almost felt like he needed to name it. But maybe that was taking things too far; besides, Dean was the one in the group who always christened things. Whether it was that old fork he seemed to carry with him wherever he went, (Ol' Rusty) or that flak jacket he'd taken as his own (Sheila) hell, he'd ever decided that Roman's right hook had to be named a Superman punch. He missed that. The stupid things. Because they actually mattered to Roman, those simple asides, the in jokes, the endless stories of their misadventures. It made everything they'd done important, if they could look at it and smile.

Renee's eyes were focused. There was something inside her, like now he'd accepted that he couldn't force her to become a bystander, she'd fallen in love with this notion of being defiant. With fighting back against the system that had beaten people she didn't know. This wasn't her battle until he'd walked in, but it was like she'd been waiting for an excuse to pick up arms and fight. She didn't have their scars, but she had a spirit he recognized. Who would have thought that someone like her would be hiding away in somewhere like Mama's. Perhaps there were others, hiding away in dead end jobs and street corners, just waiting for a reason.

The diner was coming up. He could see that neon sign. It almost burned his eyes it flashed so brightly through the storm. It didn't want to be ignored. His gut steeled himself for what he knew he had to do. This wasn't anything. It was nothing. Just routine. The less he thought about it, the less could go wrong. He knew that he should just fall into that state, the unearthly calm that possessed him when he had to defend, to fight. Shawn had caught him off guard, panicked. It wouldn't happen again.

The truck slowed. There – Cesaro's Cadillac. In the light it would have been the sort of car to make people stop and stare. Vintage, red and white, to most it would have been a sexy car. In the rain it just looked sad. Its big rear end meant there would be plenty of room for Roman's bulk. He just had to get there in the first place.

'Shit there they are.' Renee hissed. In the window, the two were sat in one of the booths. It almost satisfied him a little to see that Cesaro held an ice bundle to his cheek. He looked pissed off. Good. Shawn looked sorry for himself. 'I almost feel bad about hurting Shawn...' she muttered. 'He's a gentle old guy really.'

'Yeah, he was ever so gentle when he tried to kick my head in.' Roman retorted. She glared at him, her lips pressed in a thin line, but she didn't dignify him with an answer. She knew he was right. Her silence said everything. Roman's hand was on the door handle. Chances of getting hit out in this were fucking miniscule, but he wasn't about to take his chances. He pulled his hood up, and shot a quick glance at Renee. 'Remember, there are some old supplies in the box in the back seats. Do what you can for him. As soon as I find Dean, I'll come for you.'

'What if something happens to you? What do I do then?' she bit her lip. 'Do I try and get him to a hospital?'

Roman paused, hand drew away from the door, 'All the hospitals in the region are controlled by the Game and his lackies. Seth's too recognizable...have you got anywhere safe you could take him? Somewhere warm?'

'I could take him back to my place, it's twenty minutes outside Harrison, out of the way. I mean I don't know what Lillian would think...she'd have to deal.'

'Lillian?'

'My cat. She likes to be the centre of attention, I've never brought a man back before.'

'Well tonight seems to be a night of firsts. If I'm not back by sundown tomorrow, or if something happens, take him away. I'll try and find you.'

Renee pulled a pen and her order pad from her apron and lent against the wheel as she scribbled. She sniffed and pulled the paper away, handed it over to him.

'This is my address, and my number. If you can't make it, let me know, ok? Keep me posted, I don't want to be in the dark. Understand?'

Roman chuckled to himself, a hint of a smile under that hood as he took the slip and pushed it into his pocket. 'Yes Ma'am.'

He opened the door and made to get out, when he felt something pull him back, a glance found that manicured hand on his arm, fingers clutched in the fabric of his sleeve.

'Roman?'

'Renee?'

'Be careful.'

He nodded deeply, 'You too,' he clambered out and into the darkness and the wet. The door slammed harder than he meant, and he moved back into the shadows of the nearby trees, eyes on the lights in the diner. The truck moved off, and he was alone once again. He was almost becoming used to the endless deluge. The damp was an odd comfort, heavy and skin tight. He kept his gaze low, tried to stay out of range. Nothing coming along the roads; the outside lights shone across the highway, and he knew this would be the one time he would be completely in the open. If they so much as caught him out of the corner of their crooked eyes, he would be done and dusted. Only a fool returned to the scene of the crime. Shawn was getting up, heading toward the counter. Cesaro's eyes went after him and Roman took his chance. The cold was numbing, made him slow but he moved silently, across one lane, another, barrier, lane, lane. He found himself at the edge of the garage. The lights were dull, the dry patches almost looked wrong where they nestled under the gas. There – that lad who'd filled up the truck for him. He stood up but Roman, crouched by the neon sign, put a finger to his lips and shook his head.

He seemed to get the message. Slowly he sat down again, a confused look on his face. This wicked game he was playing, he couldn't let anyone else get involved, get hurt. This kid, he was innocent in all of this. Roman gave him a sympathetic smile, small, barely there, but the lad seemed to see it. He would apologize to him perhaps, years from now, if they ever crossed paths again.

The Cadillac sat over two spaces, because it seemed that in everything he did, Cesaro was a greedy bastard. It was just to the left of the window where Cesaro sat, boot out in Roman's direction. He'd be less noticed if he was hidden completely out of sight. If he was in the back seat there was always a chance he could be spotted. But how to get in? He followed the two men's movements. Shawn had returned, in his hand he held a basket of chicken and fries. Seemed he ate when he was nervous. It caused a grin to crease the corner of his mouth. The night they'd turned against Kane, Seth had near eaten three people's worth of fried chicken, and even snagged Dean's leftovers. How times had changed...

Thunder. It seemed like it was beginning to drift away, but it's lightning gave him short cover. He felt exposed as he darted out from his hiding place, and skidded to a halt, and down to his knees next to the back of Cesaro's car. His head peeped through the windows and saw Cesaro, but he was too distracted. Shawn must have had terrible table manners because Cesaro looked disgusted. That was good. Roman's hand ran over the side of the paint work. Perhaps next time, this would be his ride. He'd filch it out from under Cesaro's nose, when Seth's clever hands worked in their favour again. He moved round to the back. How to unlock the boot? Keys. He needed the fucking keys. Unless some luck was on his side and it wasn't locked. No. No fucking luck for Roman Reigns.

'Shit.' He hissed. Renee's plan was going downhill fucking quick. The lad was looking at him odd and Roman knew his time could have just run out. Cesaro was heading for the exit. Trying not to be seen, Roman crouched as low as his bulk would allow, but as he did, his shoulder knocked hard against the boot. It seemed even vintage cars could have extremely sensitive alarms. It blared and screamed and Roman's heart sucker punched his ribs in panic. Where to go? Where could he fucking hide? His put his hands over his head, almost awaiting the inevitable punches that were coming.

'What's going on out here?' footsteps crunched closer, closer...

'Sorry Mr Cesaro, all my fault. I thought I saw one of the windows open, must have hit against the door as I checked. Sorry sir.'

Roman opened his eyes in shock, and found the young gas attendant standing next to the car, waving Cesaro away. The Swiss man looked at him suspiciously.

'And was it?'

'Yes sir.'

'Close it then.'

The attendant caught something in his hand that rattled; music to Roman's ears. Cesaro turned on his heel and stalked back into the diner. He couldn't believe his luck, and stared open mouthed at the lad who threw and caught the keys. He looked down at Roman and winked.

'Well what do ya know, think I might be of some use to you sir.'

'How...why are you helping me?'

'You were nice to me earlier. People don't often notice I exist. All I ever ask for is a few words, a little attention, you gave me that, and a real good tip. Cesaro? Whenever he rolls in he treats me like shit, I don't know where you're up to, but if it's something to screw with that ass, I'll help anyway I can.'

He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. First a waitress, now a gas attendant, did these people just feel sorry for him? What was it that was drawing them to him? He felt compelled to know who this kid was, to thank him, but before he could the kid's eyes snapped to the window.

'Hurry, he's coming back.'

He unlocked the car, got in the seat and jacked the trunk. Roman caught it before it could open enough to be noticed, and managed to slither inside. At least it was clean. Everything smelled like it had come straight out of a carpet shop. Roman wrinkled his nose. He heard as the window scrolled down and then up.

'All done Mr Cesaro.' The kid opened the door and got out. 'Real nice car you got. She old?'

''53, Eldorado.' Came the proud answer. Roman suddenly heard the boot click shut. It sounded as if someone were leaning on it.

'Wow...one of the prettiest I've seen. You've kept her prime sir.'

'Beautiful things should be looked after. Like myself.' Roman grimaced at how much the bastard loved himself. He felt as the door opened, weight took the car down, and the door shut once again. There was a beautiful rumble as the engine started. He felt his stomach knot a little. Here we fucking go...


	10. BONUS CHAPTER

**(( I'm so grateful to everyone who has followed this story so far! I apologize if this chapter is a little short, I don't have much time, but I knew I had to post something! Please consider this a BONUS CHAPTER as a thank you from me! ))**

_**BONUS CHAPTER**_

**KENNEDY**

_His children ran round his feet, smiling, laughing as they played. Their joy was matched in his eyes as he watched, and tried not to stand on them. They were growing so fast, beautiful like their mother, smart like him. Already they were showing signs of aggression, of a charisma and strategic prowess that they'd subtly tried to instil. The eldest held her ribbons up high, they trailed from her fingers, but she knew, because her sisters were shorter, they wouldn't be able to grab a hold. If they were clever, they'd stand on their tip toes, and their fingers would brush the ends. She knew that she would win this game, because the simple matter was she was physically superior, and recognized the weaknesses and flaws in her little sisters' size. It was simple. But it was there. _

_The pride he felt burned. It shamed him to think he had to raise them in a world that couldn't appreciate that there were alphas, and there were omegas. To think, that for all the good he did in trying to maintain a balance between the two, there were those who opposed the structure, the order. It had been the same way for centuries. Those at the top of the hierarchy bred and ruled well. At the bottom were the weak, the rogues who tried to conform but couldn't take the pressure, who wanted change. They snapped and nipped, they made nuisances of themselves, wanting to steal away the honour and the privilege earned in blood, of those who had risen to the top. Wolves and mutts didn't belong in the same pack. Mutts, had to go._

_Three had proven too wild. He'd done his best to tame them, make them see that the way of authority and leadership was what was best. That they should be united with some common goal, for an ordered and controlled society. He'd given them glimpses of the rewards of being betas and gammas, that they could have their ways, they could have their vices, all as long as they answered to him. He could over look the dangers they posed, as long as he could use their strengths. He offered them the safe way. He'd offered them the easy way; and they'd snapped those mangy jaws down on the hand that fed._

_He'd been fair. He'd been kind._

_They were fools to mistake his kindness for weakness. They'd taken something from him. But like those ribbons that trailed through the air, he had the meat to drip in front of their mouths. He'd hold it high, out of their reach, keep them slobbering and trying, until they were worn down and beaten. He'd made his move and snatched power from their fingertips. Now it was their turn. He watched as the eldest stopped their play and allowed her sisters the gift of ribbons. She showed mercy, pity. He would show it too, he would give them a chance, one choice to make. They could have their rewards, their safety. But one would not. One would lose everything. _

_Who would it be?_


	11. The Prodigal Son

**((Ok so I've been permitted a little more time today, so here's our next chapter for you!))**

**KENNEDY**

He knew these halls. He'd stumbled along them, half blind and mad. They'd pinned him against them, forced his face so hard against the white than he'd almost been thrown through. They'd dragged him screaming and spitting against those tiles by hair and bonds. Confused and beaten, scared and filled to the brim with supreme hatred and loathing; they locked him up, locked him away from the world. It was a night like this they'd brought him here the first time, when they'd found him on the streets.

Now, they dragged him on his knees, hair knotted in fingers, his arms pinned behind him. He screamed and fought, he jerked his arms and thrashed. They laughed at his efforts. Everything felt like it was spiralling. He couldn't see straight. People in white stood aside and watched. They didn't try and help. He tried to shout at them, but it was like they couldn't hear him. They ignored his cries. Trained not to hear the pleas. His wrists were still bound, bloody from where he'd tried to snap himself free. The Game's tie was still firmly stuffed half down his throat, no matter how he hacked, no matter how he spat and chewed. His head turned left and right. There, through doors and windows he could see rooms he'd met before. Ghosts watched him. Skinny people in their gowns with gormless faces and wild eyes. He knew them, he'd met them, they hadn't survived.

New inmates were held back by handlers. Ahead of him he saw someone waiting. Stood in his colours and his suit that smelled of blood, even when it was fresh clean. He knew that face, so very well. The hatred, the glee in that smile. His hands were folded on that blasted stick. The one which had broken ribs and bruised his back, broken his head. He found himself thrown to the floor in front of shiny black shoes that spat back his reflection. He could see the blood around his mouth from the first punch from Dave. He could see the swollen face and the madness in his own eyes.

'Well well well.' The smooth English accent cut through him like a scalpel. Easy, clean. 'After all this time, the prodigal son has found his way back home. I knew I'd see you again Dean. It was just a matter of time.'

He couldn't hide the fear that paled his face. Dean shook, fight gone. It only took a few words, from one man to destroy his will. He'd once sworn to take him down. He'd told him he'd haunt him to the end of his days, end his reign of suffering and control. He'd said so many things, the one time he'd succeeded in bringing him to his knees. It had been that act of pure violence and cruelty which had brought Seth to him, to take him away from the hell he'd been dragged back into. The devil smiled down at him, and Dean found himself being pulled to his knees, the handle of the cane knocked his chin up.

'What's wrong Dean? Aren't you pleased to see me? You promised you would again. But I think the tables have turned, don't you?'

'What do you want us to do with him Mr Regal?' Randy's voice. There was something in the way he asked which somehow, despite everything happening, caught Dean's attention. A subtle bile. Like he hated every single syllable he was trying hard not to spit. Randy hated being told what to do, to have people above him. If it profited him, he was a good little snake, slithering around and striking out of nowhere. He owed Regal nothing. Why respect a man, who meant nothing to you? Dean bucked against those who stilled him, growled at Regal, whose smirk grew. He pulled the cane back, and took Dean's jaw in a manicured hand. He tilted the head, this way and that, noted the injuries. He liked his toys to be new when he broke them.

'First, the infirmary. I want him cleaned up. Then, my office. Mr Ambrose and I have a lot to catch up on, I'm sure.' A finger stroked along Dean's jaw, who jerked away from the touch. 'Yes...If you would, please gentlemen, my staff can handle him.'

He was released, but seconds later, white uniforms came forward and took a stronger hold of him, one hand on the back of his neck. They took him down more corridors, a maze he knew like a roach knew the hollows of a tree. He just let them take him. He had to conserve his strength. If Regal hadn't changed, he knew it would take everything he had to survive. Because he had to, yes he had to. If he didn't he'd lost, he would submit and the Game would have been right all along. Dean's weakness was his fears. He knew. He knew. Oh he fucking knew.

White. White. All fucking white. It was sterile and the same. The staff had one face and blurred into one. He couldn't keep himself together, it felt like the insanity was seeping in through every pore. Being in this inferno, that's what made you mad. This place. These walls. Those people. Every single thing. He wasn't mad. He'd never been mad. Unhinged, perhaps, yes. He would give them that. No. Too generous. He'd give them nothing. They'd take whatever he had. Seth had told him he didn't think he was crazy. Roman told him he wasn't mad.

His brothers knew him best.

He didn't deserve to be there. He didn't need to be there. They were trying to make him crazy. To give the game away, the Game wanted to win the game. All the games. Dean knew games. He'd played thousands. He knew how to win and how to lose.

His eyes glanced about, left right, left right, over there. A pair of eyes following him. She was sat in a chair, rocked back and forward but was still as anything when she saw him. Her muttering stopped. She made forward but was thrown back against the wall.

'Let me go! No, no! Let me go!'

He tried to see her straight...no...it couldn't be...but he was pulled by before he could even try to do anything. The infirmary doors swung and he went on through. Bright lights blinded him as they heaved him up onto the examination table. One of the restraint straps pulled over to hold him down. To protect him and them from him. Oh they had nothing to fear. He didn't want them. Bigger fish. So many big fat fish to fry, to fillet and to devour. It was these walls. Giving him ideas. He wanted his brothers, they made him calm. They made him sane.

'It's all alright Mr Ambrose. We'll just sort out that face of yours, and you'll be on your way. I must say though, I'm sorry to see you back here again.'

Dean's head rolled to the side, and he grunted softly through the tie. Disbelief. How could he still be here?

'Do you remember me, Mr Ambrose?'

A gentle nod. His heart felt like someone had a solid grip, and was crushing.

'I'm glad. At least they haven't taken everything from you...I thought you'd escaped here forever when that Mr Rollins came for you...' he shook his head, and glanced to the orderlies. 'You can leave now. I'll call for you when you're done.' Obediantly, and as one, they did, the door swung shut behind them. He moved and clicked the lock shut, then returned to Dean's side and pulled the tie from his aching jaws. 'Dean what happened?'

'Mick...Mick...I tried...I couldn't.'

'It's alright it's alright...we're going to have to get you out of here...' he made to undo the restrains, but Dean shook his head.

'Stop. If I escape from here, they'll know about you...how you helped me the first time, everything. They can't know about you Mick. They'll lock you up in here too.'

Mick laughed. He had a high, but soft voice. Like he'd taken helium and never quite recovered. He wasn't a small man, but was known for being indestructible. So many had tried. He'd found himself in a straitjacket, and had been so when Dean arrived, but somehow had found himself in the position of medic. He knew how to stitch his own wounds, so why not everyone elses? If he didn't want to be locked up forever, he'd work for Mr Regal. He'd taken it, and done his best to help the other inmates.

Dean had known him for years, but when they'd first met, he'd worn a different name, and had been known in the underground, as Cactus Jack.

'I lost my fear of that years ago. You don't belong here Dean.'

'There's no escaping for me this time Mick...the Game's given his orders. He wants me done.'

Mick's eyes widened. 'They can't do that. How can he justify that?'

'I got hungry and tried to eat his face.'

That drew a dark laugh. 'Dean...I can't let this happen.'

'My brothers...they'll find me.'

'Do they know you're here?'

'Mick, they don't know anything.' He looked up at his old friend desperately, his arms and hands numb beneath him. Imploring, begging, he owed this man so much, and Mick would never be in his debt. 'I need your help.'


	12. Dirty Deeds

**(( I can't believe we've made it to over a thousand views! A MASSIVE thank you to every single person who has stopped by to even glimpse my first ever fanfiction. I Really appreciate the support and all the kind comments that I've received. The story is really starting to form in my mind now, so watch this space!))**

**WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, HARRISON**

The rain had eased off as she pulled up. The air was bitterly cold and she wished she'd remembered to grab her jacket. Heating apparently wasn't a luxury the old truck had at its disposal. But in some strange way, as she hauled the handbrake into place, turned off lights and ignition, she missed that heavy rainfall. It had been the only consistent thing in this crazy crazy night. When she'd first turned up for work, she'd been resigned to a quiet shift, maybe a handful of drifters rolling on through. Sometimes it ended up with it just being her and Shawn making a whole batch of pancakes, coating them in syrup. They'd sit on the tables and turn the radio up. He'd told her before, on one of his dark nights, that the Game had bought up the place just so Shawn could have somewhere to go. They'd hired her to keep him company.

Now she'd seen a whole different side of the coin. The lonely old man had a violent, unpredictable side. When Cesaro had threatened her, he didn't even make a move to step in and help. She'd thought they were friends. But she knew now, that she'd been sadly mistaken. Renee held onto the keys in her lap, her finger ran over the notches and she stared out at the wall of the warehouse in front of her. She didn't know Roman, she didn't know his friends, but what she'd seen, and what he'd done...she felt like she'd stumbled upon something far bigger than she was ever meant for. But she would make herself fit. After everything she'd said to Roman, how she'd reprimanded him for even thinking of not including her...she couldn't back down now.

She had to prove she was strong. The goose bumps on her arms betrayed her. Renee swallowed and clutched the keys so hard she felt them cut into her hand. _Deep breaths girl. Just keep your cool_. All she was doing was going to look after a complete stranger's sick friend. No, he wasn't a stranger, not any more. She didn't know what to think, but she felt in her gut, that these were good men. Good men stuck, in a hellish situation. She nodded to herself, urging her hand to open the door. As she did, a memory struck her, and Renee looked over her shoulder into the back seats. Like he'd said, there was an old battered box. She grabbed its rusty metal handle and heaved it into the front. It weighed an absolute tonne. Roman said it had had supplies in – what kind? Heavy artillery? Were there machine guns hidden inside? She didn't open it.

Instead, she pulled down her rolled up sleeves, heaved open the door and threw herself into the elements. Her sodden uniform was instantly chilled through by the biting wind. Her cheeks flushed red and her hair tumbled around her. She shivered and cast her eyes around. At least she didn't have far to walk in this turbulence. The warehouse Roman had directed her to had an old peeling _13_ painted onto the side in black. She hurried toward it, not wanting to stay out in the cold any longer than she had to. But when she reached the door, her heart sank. Roman had told her that it would be locked. Instead, shattered, the padlock lay at the base of the door. She'd asked him what to do if they were found.

He hadn't said what protocol was if someone had found Seth before she did. Both hands clutched the handle of the box. It was so heavy and bashed against her legs. There would be bruises. But bruises could be nothing compared to what she would find inside...

Renee braced herself and shoved her weight against the door. It opened with a shunt. She almost stumbled but somehow managed to secure her footing, the box nearly overbalancing her. It was so dark. Renee pulled her cargo up into her arms and hugged it against her chest. Forget bruises, she carried it like this too long her breasts would be pancake flat.

'Hello?' she called. Nothing, but it made sense. Seth was hiding, sick. If she was as scared as she was sure he was right now, she knew her lips would be zipped. Her steps echoed as she made her way from the door. It was freezing. Nothing about it would help anyone who was unwell. They'd chosen the worst hideout ever. She would have at least found somewhere with central heating. She adjusted how she held the box when she stopped, and sniffed.

Smoke.

That couldn't be right...but she worked in a diner. She knew smoke. Shawn had a tendency to overdo most things at the beginning of the week. He'd somehow managed to burn eggs. It was a skill, and left her in no doubt that something was wrong. The warehouse seemed to be used for the storage of hundreds of massive wooden crates. They all looked the same, and something about them made her uneasy. Their anonymity somehow made them sinister, like shadows leaked through the slight gaps in the wood. But she knew they would be her shield. As quiet as she could, she used them as her cover, and edged toward the source of the smell.

As she drew closer, there was a dull red light. It flickered almost, as if a fire. Her face tingled in its unnatural glow, as if it were forcing itself under her skin, burning every pore. Her lips dried; her clothes too. There; just round that corner, that was where it was brightest. She swallowed and tried to prepare herself for what she was about to see. Renee glanced around.

The massive bulk that crouched reminded her of a bear. He was hunched over, as if feasting. The light seemed to almost come _off _him until she realized it was from whatever he crouched over. She thought he was talking, but nothing made sense. Where was Seth?

Then the screams began.

They curdled her blood and she pulled back, body flat against the crates, barely able to breathe. She clutched that box so tight she thought she might pass out. The agony...the pure exhausted agony punctured her very skull. She found herself sliding down to the ground, legs unable to hold her. Her courage was failing. What was she doing here? What did she think she could do? Roman had told her to hide. Well here she was, hiding. All the while, pain shook the entire warehouse. Renee looked down at the steel box. She rested it on her legs and undid the screws. The lid opened reluctantly. Inside was what you could expect, medical supplies, nutrition bars, but there was something else. Buried deep at the bottom, beneath a ragged old cloth, were some gloves. They were unlike nothing she'd ever seen before. Fingerless, they looked to be weighted, with heavy studs on the knuckles. She lifted them out, astounded by how heavy they were. You could easily break teeth, splinter bone and pummel someone senseless with them. Something was stitched on the backs of the hands, were words. One on the left. One on the right.

_Dirty Deeds_.

She almost laughed, but couldn't muster the sound. She held them in her hands, stared at the hell they could cause. The sound of another cry scrunched her eyes shut. She put the gloves to her face and tried to will herself away from all this. To go somewhere else.

'Stop! Stop!'

Stop. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop being so afraid. Stop being so selfish. Someone needed her. She'd promised Roman she'd help Seth in any way she could. Something possessed her as she looked down at the weapons of destruction in her hands. She slipped them onto her hands, strapped them shut at the wrist. She was a small woman, but she'd heaved potato sacks and helped drag ploughs. She was strong. She could be strong.

She wouldn't back down. Renee rose to her feet, and glanced back round to the light. The bear like man was gone, and there, laid out, bare-chested and bleeding, was a man. He was skinny, weak.

Seth.


	13. ZZ Highway

**(( Two chapters for today, as I was late getting the last one up, I thought I'd make it up to you by giving you a second! I hope you're still enjoying the story, and I really love writing these characters!))**

**CESARO'S CAR BOOT, INTERSTATE HIGHWAY 84**

He'd forgotten just how long the journey was to Kennedy. The city isolated itself completely from the rest of the world; carved out in a chunk of wilderness. The interstate trailed on for miles, and had become known as ZZ highway. So many people had been known to cause accidents because of falling asleep at the wheel. Roman felt stupidly powerless. The boot was cramped and he'd had to uncomfortably fold himself up. His head was scrunched against the side of the space and he couldn't help but disbelieve where he was. Heading in the right direction maybe, but completely in enemy territory.

Renee's idea had seemed like a good one at the time, but now he was beginning to wonder why he didn't just knock the bastard out and commandeer the vehicle. His body was beginning to cramp, his feet were dead and tingling. But still, he was dry. Ish. Cesaro had the heating on high, and Roman's clothes were beginning to lose their damp. He knew if he'd have been Dean, he'd be panicking. His years of incarceration in St. Jude's had left him with a crippling fear of physical restriction. It made sense for Roman to have a problem like that; after all, he was the biggest of all of them. But no. Years before the criminal underground and the Game's cruel hand had pulled him into the shit, he'd had a promising football career...being tackled by sometimes ten guys meant claustrophobia couldn't be in your physical make up. Of course he was afraid of some things. Everyone had their fears.

A fear of Antonio Cesaro's car boot for example, would be perfectly logical. He wanted to get out. It was almost degrading having to resort to this. But he couldn't be seen.

His hands were above his head, flat against the boot roof to stop his head smacking against it. Cesaro was a smooth driver, but it seemed the roads weren't feeling kind. The storm must have brought more debris onto the highway. The warning the gas station attendant had given him about the trees came back. What if they were still there and Cesaro had to stop? He'd have to cross that bridge when it came to it. Several somethings were rolling around and kept hitting into him. He took up most of the room. He lowered his hand and reached down to open one of the pockets on his black combats. He grasped the slender torch he always carried and pulled it free. It was a curious thing, something he'd found in the truck when they'd first taken it. Half torch, half glow stick. It worked for him, and he flicked it on. The boot was filled with a dull orange glow. A couple of seconds later, it brightened and Roman looked about him.

It seemed Cesaro had the same idea. A heavy duty torch was by his left leg, the sort you could knock out someone's lights with. A satchel was snug behind him, but unable to turn, he couldn't see what was inside. A blanket and towel, a coat. It was what you'd find in any car, and could have convinced you that Cesaro was a normal civilian.

But Roman knew that if he caught a glimpse of what was hidden inside that bag, the perception would alter completely. Cesaro's title of the King came with good reason. He carried a jewel hilted dagger, hidden at all times. No one knew where it really came from, he told a different story every time, right before it was used to kill or maim. Anyone who defied his code of conduct in the underground fight scene answered to the king.

They'd all been on the wrong side of people. He didn't want to find himself on the bad side of that knife. It was famed for shining almost as white as Cesaro's fucking teeth.

The car hit over a bump, Roman's torch tumbled from his hands and flashed off. Plunged into darkness once again, he folded his arms and tried to close his eyes. This journey would take forever, but it was worth it. Dean was at the end of this. But of course, getting into Kennedy was one thing, finding a man who never wanted to be found was quite another...


	14. What A Wonderful World

**(( so this is my longest chapter so far, but I think it's my favourite of those I have written, back to Dean for this one! Thank you all for your continued support, please let me know what you think, I appreciate all your comments!))**

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM **

You could pay and see the freaks in their cages. The people with a clean bill of health and silk ties could roll on up to Bedlam and peer inside through the glass, see what happened to the people they didn't like. With just a snap of their fingers, innocent lives were destroyed. Something in the walls could change your mind, and if you were sane before, when you left you were damaged goods. Perhaps it was all the white; white ceilings, white floors, doors, walls...the orderlies wore white. The medics did too. The scrubs the inmates were forced into were off colour, closer to grey. The only speck of darkness and colour wrapped into one was the man who ran it all. His suits were always black. His shoes were black. His fat, black heart matched his stained soul. But he always wore a blue shirt. What shade? He'd debated what to call it for years: Fat Cat Blue, Big Blue Cheese...it was so blue that it shot through your eyes and screwed your brain after all the blankness. He wanted to be remembered. He wanted to take the recognition of colour, that joyous thing, and beat it into submission. He would be centre of their senses.

He would be what they loved and loathed. The power he had over each and every single one was miserable. He'd found a few, a select handful who defied him, bit back and knocked his quiet order askew. Some cases were lost causes. Sometimes surgery was needed to rectify the problem. It was all for their own good, it was for the very best. Prohibited unless valid evidence was given, and all other procedures and medications tested and failed, it had become something of a...specialty of St. Jude's. Their intake of patients...the severity of their psychosis and the threat they posed...it seemed to be becoming more and more necessary to take risks to reduce the impact they could potentially have on the lives of others. They weren't destroyed per say, just, cured. That was all there was to it. Sometimes, the miracles lay in the manicured hands of the men who could sign a piece of paper. Some protested on their way for treatment, there was nothing wrong with them, but it was all in their heads. Afterward, there was nothing in those skulls at all. They were slow, sluggish, but calm and emotionless. Their problems thwarted all by a few cuts and scrapes by the people with manicured hands.

His office was like those nails; immaculate. Everything had its place, as it should. There was complete order, no chaos. Even the papers upon his desk were straight, equal distance apart and sorted by importance. The furniture was dark, polished and expensive. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. Nothing caught in the carpets. No cobwebs. There was no life. Even the calendar on the wall was just a chart with scribbles. No pictures. But there was something on that desk not normally found there: a sculpture. It was of the human head, a line drawn round where the back of the head could be lifted off to reveal the brain.

Mick had tried to come with him, but had been forced back into the prison of the infirmary. They'd shot him up whilst he'd been down. The cruellest of drugs, he'd found his own little world when trapped in its hold. Hooked, addicted, it was part of their cycle. It was how they turned the sane into their puppets. It was how they manipulated your limbs and your minds; how they made you thought, that _yes, yes, yes! _they were helping you after all. The puncture mark on the inside of his arm would heal over like the hundreds of others. They turned you into a junkie; then reasoned that it was all that kept you under control – how could you live in the outside world without their healing hands?

His head was a block of lead. Eyes had lolled as he'd been rolled onto his side. The zip ties which had bound him were clipped off, and replaced with the padded cuffs that were government approved. He would become one of the greys later. For now he had a meeting with a blue shirt.

They liked him better when he behaved. They'd remembered to hit him with the hardest dose. That the caged animal could only be forced to sleep with maximum pressure applied. They'd learned from last time. He'd mesmerized every single sedative they had on their pristine shelves. But for him, they used Ketamine. It was like floating, as if his brain had detached from his head and had moved off into a higher plane. It was like falling asleep with your eyes glued open. It was like falling from some great height, screaming your lungs out, and all you were hearing was peaceful silence. He couldn't hold himself up, but that was ok, because they did it for him. They took him along those oh so familiar halls. They talked to him too, but he was stuck in his endless landscape of horror and comfort. His comatose walkways and his psychosis halls. They made him worse to make him better. They played the Game, their twisted wonderland game.

They stopped in front of that door. It was the same colour as all the others; white white white. But it had fancy gold stencilled on the front so people knew it was Mr Regal's boudoir. They knocked on the door, one two.

'_Who's there?_' he mumbled.

His brain couldn't lose touch with his tongue. Even with a brick somehow lodged in that thick skull of his, they couldn't silence him completely. Their drugs and their treatments, they were temporary, his defiance was forever.

'Come in.'

The door was pushed open and Dean was juggled into the room, and sat down on the plain chair which faced the desk, hands behind the back, just in case. It kept him upright. His messed up hair and the stitches along his lip made him a state. A guest of the state, of the city, a special friend of the white walls. Mr Regal sat in his special leather chair, which span ((Dean knew that, he'd once wandered on in and made himself comfortable)), elbows on the desk, hands pressed together, fingertip to fingertip. Those glass eyes focused in on Dean, who couldn't even raise his head to stare on back.

'It's a terrible shame Dean, a terrible shame. I really thought we were making progress. But then you ran away...like a petulant child. I know your friend Mr Rollins was desperate to have you, but he could have asked. I might have said yes...but he didn't. He stole you from me. Well you're back with us now. It'll be alright again. We can make you better. Like we did last time.'

He stood from his desk, walked around to the side of Dean's chair, and grabbed the back in those crippling hands. He turned it easily, betraying the brutal strength he possessed. The body locked to the chair rocked, but settled, chin to chest. Regal's hands took that jaw as he bent down, feet flat on the floor. He handled him so gently, raised the head to see the face. He moved the messed hair from the eyes which could barely see. He touched the cheek, the stubble on his jaw.

'You always were my favourite monster Dean.' His voice was almost tender. The English rose he'd swallowed must have wilted years before – the gentleness didn't reach those eyes. Dean wanted to recoil from his touch. He wanted to scream, to lash out, throttle the Frankenstein in front of him, to watch the last drops of life drain from that face. Inside he felt like a child. Only a teen when he fell into the clutches of the asylum. Into the cold hands and the blunt nails of William Regal. It hadn't just been the insanity he'd escaped before. 'It seems...such a shame to ruin my greatest experiment...but I fear that you have signed your own doom.'

With one hand he reached across to the model on his desk. It was smooth, plastic. It probably felt more human than Regal himself did. He pulled off the skull and allowed Dean to see inside at the different coloured pieces of the brain.

'Hunter wants something Dean, and I am obliged to fulfil his request. This,' he pointed to the frontal lobe. 'This is the part of your brain, which controls your emotions. It's the insistent piece; it makes decisions and controls purposeful behaviour. This is the part of your brain Dean, which we want to fix.' He reached in and scooped the frontal lobe out, set the model on the floor and held the piece of brain in his two hands like it was an offering. 'If we sever the connections to this, then your violence, your dangerous behaviour and unpredictability will no longer be a problem. You'll no longer be thought of as psychotic. You'll be numbed, but inconsequential. Hunter thinks this will help, Dean. From my studies of you over the years, I can vouch that everything we've tried to do to help hasn't worked. Your escape has proved this to me, as has your violence toward my orderlies.' He shook his head, fingers closed round the brain, like he didn't quite want to let go. 'I never wanted it to come to this, we always had such fun together Dean, such fun...' he actually sounded regretful. Regal stood, and swiped the top piece of paper off his neat bundle on the desk, and held it up. 'This right here, is all I need to sign, for this to happen.'

Dean tugged uselessly against his restraints. Regal seemed to notice the sign of life and placed the paper down.

'I can stop this. If you want me to Dean. If you stay here, we can play forever. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Think of all the good times we had.'

His addled brain remembered all too well. The beatings, the 'therapies', the talks and the simulations; he'd never forgotten. He could see the look of childish glee in those glass eyes when he'd been strapped down for shocks, when he'd pushed the operator out the way so he could have his turn. He could remember when some of the females had been brought into his room, naked and humiliated to test whether his violence was attributed to a desire for sexual gratification. Regal had taunted those women, and declared Dean's insanity, when he'd broken free, and tried to kill him. That was what he remembered best. His favourite of the slideshow pictures that scrolled through his mind.

'Tell me Dean, tell me you'll stay here. You won' t run away again, and we'll have our fun every day.'

A toddler in a suit with an expensive smile; he'd started out as one of the people who'd paid to see the crazies. Like a little boy in a zoo, he'd grinned at them all, seen the tormented and hurt humans as something to poke and throw peanuts at. Hunter had made him head of this Bedlum, because of the fun to be had. The fun, every single day.

A slurred mumble slipped from Dean's lips. Regal, enthusiasm in his face moved forward, ear trustfully close to Dean's mouth.

'What was that Dean?'

'Go to hell.'

He lurched, teeth clamped down on the helix. Regal screamed and buckled, and his own movement and Dean's determined grit tore. His hand clamped over the side of his head and Dean spat the piece of ear onto that pristine carpet. Fury turned Regal's face blood red, the pain throbbed through the veins on his forehead. But all he could do, instead of rush for help, was grab a pen, and sign on the dotted line.

'You're finished Ambrose. You're done! I offered you a way out. You had your chance! Tomorrow night, this is all over Ambrose, _you're_ all over. Get him out of my sight!'

He was heaved away, a sloppy smile on his bloody lips at the sight before him. Maybe it was worth what was to come. Maybe he was doomed. But there was always a chance, there always had to be a chance. He'd have to put his faith in the man who'd helped him before. Mick Foley had saved his ass once; now it was the turn of Cactus Jack, to do it all over again.

'_and I think to myself...what a wonderful world...'_


	15. Here To Help

**WAREHOUSE 13, HARRISON**

Knowing that the bear like man could be anywhere, that she probably had less time than she needed, Renee inched out from behind the crates. Her eyes looked this way and that, head turned. Only when every direction she could think of was covered, twice, she dashed forwards. Her hands already hurt from the weighted gloves she'd strapped on for security, and she stumbled down to her knees next to the prone body on the floor. Her bare legs scrapped against the rough ground but she didn't care. The impossibly red glow seemed to be coming from an odd red heater of sorts, it was boiling to be next to, and the metal on the front set off that crimson light. The man next to her was barely breathing. His chest littered with deep formed bruises, his right hand, which lay on his chest was crippled. His fingers bent completely the wrong way. Black eye, split lip, he coughed and she was terrified he'd bring up blood.

'Seth?' she whispered. Her own gentle hand reached out and took the one that lay on the floor. She wrapped her fingers around it as well as she could, her other hand touched his bloody forehead. He had a handsome face beneath the beard that ravaged it, beneath the injuries, the sickness. Despite being right next to the heat, he still shivered. When she was little, Renee had become lost in a storm. When she was found, she was confused, unwell. Hypothermia had set in. She remembered her own symptoms. She could see them reflected in his face. 'Seth, my name is Renee, I'm here to help you...Roman sent me.'

At the mention of his friend's name, Seth's eyes weakly opened as much as they could. He didn't seem to see her too well, but his head turned a little in her direction. He tried to speak, but raw throated from his own screams, he struggled to summon the words. Renee glanced around them. She had to get him out of there. Everything was compromised. She'd have to move him, get him back to her place. At least then he'd be somewhere no one could hurt him. Her heart broke as he weakly squeezed her fingers.

'Roman...is Roman...alright?'

'Well if your friendly neighbourhood waitress hadn't been on the job then he'd probably be in the same state as you right now.' She tried to make him smile, but he didn't seem to have the strength. She stroked his forehead tenderly, tried to avoid the cuts and dark patches. 'Seth, the man, the one who was hurting you, where did he go?'

He took a breath in. It was shaky and seemed to pain him. Renee bit her lip, if his ribs were damaged moving him would be agony. But she couldn't just leave him here. Another glance around. Her heart was beginning to stutter. The longer they remained; their chances were slipping away with the winds which chilled the floor.

'Seth...we need to get you out of here. Can you move?'

He tried. He really did. His broken hand rested on his stomach and he bent his upper body. Renee moved to sit slightly behind him so he could support himself against her shoulder. As he did, she caught a glance at his back. She felt sick. Not one part of him had been spared. It terrified her to think what the monster was going to do to this poor man if she didn't help him escape. He grunted with effort and somehow made it onto his knees. She held onto him firmly. She knew her fingertips probably added to his agony but she had no choice. Softly softly, she tucked her head under his arm, and pulled. He was heavier than he looked. She braced her knees and somehow, with all her effort, she managed to get him onto his feet. He would freeze out there. Suddenly remembering the blanket in the supplies box, she started to ease him toward where she'd left it.

'That's it. Easy does it.'

He had a slight limp. She almost wanted to ask everything that had been done to him...but that would have to wait. Until they were in the comfort of her own home, they couldn't stop. They couldn't rest easily. If the monster came back, they were done for. This man was a warrior and he'd been destroyed. How on earth could she defend him? With some pimped up gloves she'd just so happened to find? No way. They managed to make it back into the shadows of the crates. The box was where she'd left it. Somehow, she managed to bend down and grab the handle. But she'd forgotten how heavy it was. Her hands couldn't take any more weight. Despair filled her and she knew she'd have to leave it behind. Her fingers felt around inside and somehow managed to tug the blanket free of everything else. With Seth's sluggish help, she managed to wrap it around his shoulders. A little warmth was better than nothing. The door was in sight. It seemed so much further away than it had before.

Struggling a little under his weight, Renee swallowed. She had to do this. Her eyes were never still, they flicked left and right, up, down, around. She couldn't take any risks. They'd both be doomed if she did. Seth's slow, uneasy steps, his groans of pain and shaking body scared her shitless. Roman had told her not to take him to a hospital, but she was only the _daughter_ of a nurse. There was only so much she could do, and she could tell that Seth required proper medical attention. She'd have to ring her Mom; she'd have to get all the advice she could. She could feel Seth's slow pulse. Everything was freaking her out. The way the wind seeped in through the gaps in the windows, the cold with skimmed her legs. The howls that shrieked all around. The warehouse was a personalised hell. A haunted house with everyone elses belongings tucked away.

Somehow, they made it to the door. Renee eased it open. Seth slipped. He fell to his hands and knees. He screamed. His broken hand bent and buckled. Renee felt her stomach turn. He shook as the wind licked his bruised skin. Eyes to Renee, no, past her. His face...fear. Renee didn't want to look. Her entire body quaked. Head turned. She found herself nose to chest with something, someone massive. He looked down at her through dead red eyes. The heat which rolled off him was intense. The monster in the dark. Renee stumbled back, landed down next to Seth. He tried to push himself in front of her.

Tried to protect her.

'Seth no!' one great hand came down through the air, and ceased the multi-coloured hair of the broken man. He was powerless to fight back as he was dragged forward, as he was _lifted_ from the ground. 'Leave him alone! He's suffered enough!'

The massive man laughed. A sound which seemed to come from hell itself. She pushed herself to her feet, slipping in the puddles and looked down at her gloved fists. Not knowing what she was doing, she dashed forward and swung her right fist upward towards the monsters face as best she could. She hardly nicked it, but the weight of the punch caught his jaw and he dropped Seth in surprise. The man landed hard, awkward. The monster bent a little and Renee took her chance. She swung again. This time she caught him right on the jaw, the swipe catching the nose too. There was a sickening crack, and a spurt of blood. The monster seemed surprised more than anything. Renee took advantage and heaved Seth up from the floor. Adrenaline running, she dragged him to the truck. The passenger side stuck. Again? Now? Renee grabbed the handle and heaved with all her might. The door suddenly sprung open.

'In Seth! Get in! Come on!' she shoved him from behind. He could hate her if he wanted. She'd beg forgiveness later for hurting him. As soon as he was in, she slammed the door shut. But the monster was waiting for her. Blood ran down the mask he wore, and he seemed to relish the taste. Renee cowered against the side of the truck. He was standing near the puddle she'd slipped in. With all the energy she had left, she crashed against him, shoved as hard as he could. But nothing. He was too big, too heavy. He caught her by the throat. Crushed slowly. He raised her up, smirked in her face. The driver's door suddenly smacked open, straight against the skull of the man. Seth, exhausted in the space left. The grip slacked, and with one final grunt of grit, Renee slammed both hands down on the ears of the monster. He fell to one knee, and Renee scrambled up into the drivers seat.

'We have to go. We have to go. We have to go.' She started the truck on up. A glance forward. He was standing in front of them. Renee didn't hesitate. She shoved the old banger into gear and slammed her foot down on the gas. They smacked into the monster so hard he was flung onto the bumper and rolled off onto the asphalt. She didn't look in the mirror to see if he was alright. She drove out of the warehouse district, and didn't look back.


	16. A Good Existance

**INTERSTATE HIGHWAY 84**

They'd stopped. He only knew because the car had come to such an abrupt halt that he'd been jolted from the uneasy sleep he'd slipped into. It meant one of three things, Cesaro had hit something, something had run out in front, or something was in the way. Roman's heart pounded as he heard the driver's door open. As it slammed, and just above the sound of the wind, he heard the Swiss man swear. Steps. They came closer, closer, around the side of the car. Heading to the boot. He pushed himself back as far as his bulk could manage, tried to hide. There was no hiding. As soon as the lid was popped he was found, and he was in trouble. What would he be coming for? The torch. The torch. Roman's booted foot tried to scramble for it. The lock on the boot clicked. The torch moved to his hand and he shoved it to the front of the space. His head locked to his chest, his hands plugged into his armpits. Skin hidden. Blackness. He had to be darkness.

He had to be nothing.

The boot opened. Roman was sure his heart stopped. He held his breathe. The wind picked up. His blessing, because Ceasaro didn't open the boot the whole way, instead, a hand appeared and felt around for the torch. It grasped it, and the fat gold rings on his fingers winked at Roman as he pulled it from the car. The lid touched down again, but didn't close completely. He heard the other man move away. He couldn't stay in the car. He didn't know how far away he was from Kennedy but, if he managed to get out and see how far it was, perhaps he'd have a chance of making it on foot, especially now that he could see the rain had stopped; for now. His breath clouded in front of him as he slinked his fingers between the gap and eased the lid open slowly. The wind near knocked his breath from his chest but he managed to clamber out. His boots hit the asphalt and he crouched low, moved to steal a look around the car. He could tell from the torch beams source Cesaro was several meters in front of him. There, blocking the road, as promised, and illuminated by the torch light, were the fallen trees. Big enough they couldn't be moved by hand, they crossed the entirety of the lanes, blocking off the route. The other side was clear, but there was no way of crossing the car over. He'd have turn back and detour miles.

Roman stood quietly. The rain may have eased, but it certainly hadn't stopped as tiny specks smudged against his face. He held up a hand to try and block it, russet eyes scanned the world beyond the trees, tried to find the outline of the city in the distance. No lightning now to highlight it for him. He might as well be in the darkest place on earth. But by chance, Cesaro flicked where the torch was directed, and landed the light briefly on a nearby sign, partially obstructed by the trees. Kennedy. He couldn't see how far away it was, and remembered his own light was still in the truck. He glanced down, but realized he'd closed it, without the keys, there was no getting back in.

'Shit.' He grumbled. Suddenly the torch beam swung. He ducked down just in time. Cesaro was coming back. He could hear the man talking, to himself? No. No a phone. He was shouting to be heard above the wind.

'I can't make it back! Trees are down. No sign of Reigns sir! I'm sure when he hears what will be happening to his friend he'll crawl out of the dirt. He'll be begging us to take him.'

His...friend...no. Dean.

They had Dean.

What was going to happen?

He craned his ears to listen, forgot him, leaned closer. The light bent to the floor.

'Yes, yes sir. I'll be there when I can. Who knows? I might have something else for you.'

The call ended, and Roman turned away, flattened himself against the back of the car. What was he going to do? Dean had promised he wouldn't be caught, but even he couldn't stay hidden forever. This was wrong. This was complicated. How could he help Seth if he couldn't get to Dean? How was he going to save his brothers if he was separate from both of them? He pushed his hands into his hair in frustration and let out a low roar. The wind plucked at his clothes. Irritated, angry. He didn't know what to do with himself. He couldn't just sit there. He would have to run to Kennedy...he had to do something. But what? His hands were on his face, ran over his cheeks and jaw, his mouth. A plan. He needed a plan.

'Mr Reigns I hope you realize you're in the way of my reversing this car.'

He stopped, and glanced up. Cesaro stood over him. But he didn't seem threatening in the slightest. In fact, he was smiling, a hand offered down to pull him up.

'You're a determined man Mr Reigns. To stow yourself into Kennedy is smart, but foolish.'

'Saves being dragged in as a prisoner.'

'I'm sure that almost certainly depends on your circumstances.'

Roman regarded the other man uneasily, his right hand was secured into a fist. Cesaro seemed to have noticed and took a smart step back, out of range. Few got up after meeting that right hook.

'Why aren't you surprised to see me? Aren't trying capture me?' his eyes were narrow. The standoff seemed to feel endless, and he couldn't distinguish what was going on in the eyes of Cesaro. He looked pleased with himself, but there was no violence there. No hatred. He looked so calm in the heart of it all.

'You are not my enemy, Mr Reigns.'

'Could have fooled me, especially back at the diner. You hurt that woman Cesaro, she had nothing to do with this, and yet you still kept her. Give one good reason I shouldn't knock you through the road.'

'I've never known you to say so much. You're normally so stoic. It must be the pressure of it all. One sick friend, one doomed for the operating table.'

His fist lowered, his eyes widened. 'What...how do you know about Seth? Operating...I don't understand.'

Cesaro leaned against the side of his car, and reached into his pocket, pulling free a shining silver box and a heavy set lighter. He set about pulling free a cigarette and sparking it up. He cupped his hands around to protect from the wind, but watched Roman the whole time. Smoke drifted between his fingers and he took a drag.

'Your friend, Ambrose, has been signed away by the state. Deemed insane and dangerous to the public, he's to be operated on tomorrow night; lobotomy. If they succeed, your friend won't know you from anyone else in the world. Such a shame.' He shrugged and tapped ash to the ground. 'That doesn't concern me. What does is the fact that I'm being wasted on errands. That beast, Lesnar, he's making his presence known, is nudging in on my fights whilst I'm relegated to make sure the retired aren't burning themselves flipping burgers. That, Mr Reigns, is my concern.'

He offered the cigarette case over to Roman who didn't even dignify movement.

'Things are changing in Kennedy since you and your Hounds have left town. The Game is bringing in all the security he can; the rebels are starting to fight back, now that you're not there to stop them.' the wind carried the smoke away faster than it was blown. Cesaro didn't even seem to notice the cold, the spots of rain. 'I liked things the way they were. I was left to my own devices. I made my money. People disappeared, people won. It was a good existence. I remember the times your cockroach of a friend survived the strongest people in those pits, the way he defied me. I wanted to destroy him, but I was fond of him. You find that the people you face are the ones who win you over, Mr Reigns.'

He'd been silent. Just watching, waiting for what was coming. He didn't trust this man, was hanging on the moment, knew that in only seconds it could switch completely, that his lights could be out, that he could be caught in a fight. He could only win when he knew it was coming. He had to stay on the very edge of it all. There was no leaning against that car, he didn't loosen his fist.

'I have a proposal for you, Mr Reigns.'

'Does it begin and end with me knocking you beyond those trees?'

'I should think not. But. I can get you into Kennedy, if you do something for me.'

'I'm not helping leeches like you.'

'That's a shame. Because I fear your Mr Ambrose won't do so well unless you do.'

Roman gritted his jaw.

'What do you want?'

Cesaro smiled and tapped the cigarette ash again. 'That's much better. It's only a favour. I'm sure it won't be too much for someone like you. I need something done, Mr Reigns. Here's what I need of you...'


	17. The Eternal Nightmare

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM, KENNEDY**

If Regal had had it his way, then Dean knew he would have been strapped down to a table and left to rot until the time came to play doctor. But that wasn't how things worked in St. Jude's. Ever since a riot had broken out during his first stay in the sanitarium ((which may or may not have been orchestrated by his good self; he'd been rather bored that day)) rules had been put into place that every 'patient' had to be given social time and exercise to try and quell any feeling of pressure and claustrophobia. In short, they didn't want the same thing to happen again. It was then that he'd found himself catching the attentions of Seth. He could remember that day, when the violence and the rebellion inside was a marvel to behold, there he'd been. Watching through a window. He'd been there for a different purpose, in the one look they'd shared, more had been said than words could express. A bond formed, a brotherhood begun. Dean had owed Seth everything.

He thought back now to when he'd found out he and Roman had been betrayed.

It had broken his heart. He'd loved Seth. When he and his brothers had been together, he'd been home. He'd done everything to try and thrash out the feelings which conflicted him, made him worse. He'd been so disconnected from everything and everyone for such a long time...he could remember hunting Seth down. The battles they'd endured. The things they'd done to one another. Seth had damn near killed him when he'd thrown his head through cinder blocks. It had been explained to him once, that the reason Seth had done it all, was to save them. The Game had captured him, given him a choice. He could either punish them, break them, or watch as they were tortured, murdered.

Dean knew, he'd died the day Seth had turned on them. It didn't make a fucking difference how the story went. And when he'd come crawling back, begging for forgiveness, trying to tell them his reasons, trying to show them that he was still Seth. It had been hard to understand. Hard to forgive. The words had never left Dean's mouth. As much as he'd tried to beat it out of himself, he still found that a piece of him was in the other man's clutches. To restore his own sanity, to keep himself together, he needed Seth. Roman too; without being together, they didn't work right. They didn't function.

He never forgave, he chose to forget.

No matter how bad things were, you could push them aside. Swim through the shit and ignore the smell if you tried hard enough. You could shove feelings and instinct aside to go with what you wanted. If you really fucking tried. But he couldn't knock back the memories which bubbled to the surface in this place. He stared up at the white wall in front of him. A blank space where any number of things could be written. You could see dull stains where blood and piss had been smeared against it days, weeks, years before. He could throw his own thoughts against it, a bloody canvas of beauty and carnage. Yes, yes, he could see it all, feel it all. What was happening, what they were going to do to him. He knew it.

There was a way out. There was always a way out. He should have expected sooner or later he'd find himself back in hell. After all, he'd flung himself into the mouth, just so his brothers could have a chance of purgatory. He sniffed, adjusted his arms a little. His hands were still hooked behind him by those padded restraints. The weight of them aggravated him. But they didn't bite like the ties had. Didn't draw blood. Behind him there was sound. People muttering, mumbling. Sanity disguised as madness. They did not know the psychs of the victims in these halls. Something half said, a few paranoid glances, those were enough to lock the door and tighten the straps on the special jacket that made you hug yourself. Oppose what was _true_ and you were the enemy. You were mad. There was nothing wrong with the world. Only the people who wanted change. Who knew what everything could be.

The walls made you talk. They took away your will, made your brain half white. Thought could travel and it would stop, observation stopped at the rainbow's end. A part of you sliced away without the need of a scalpel.

'Too fucking white.' He muttered. His head cocked to the side a little, eyes narrowed to inspect the slightest of cracks. It hadn't been there before. He knew this wall. Every inch. That was new. 'Where did you come from...'he pressed his nose closer, as if he were trying to push himself through to the other side through that anomaly. 'Where do you go...'

More sounds. Irritating fucking noises interrupting his thoughts. His fucking pretty thoughts.

'Keep it down!' he yelled and half turned. There were a dozen or so inmates huddled into the room. One or two played games in the corner, chess or chequers, nothing else to chose from. Some read books, upside down, inside out, right way round, backward, forward, middle to end, beginning to end, end first, ruining it for everyone. One quietly chewed the pages. Some did nothing as Dean did. Their vacuous stares burned holes in their surroundings. They were all new to his eyes. He felt something then. Hands. They slid around his waist. He felt a head rest against his the middle of his back. He could feel her pulse through her forehead, through the greys, her breath on the material.

'You came back.'

He could hear the tears in her voice. The broken heart that she had to swallow down. He stood there, let her hold him. His face tilted toward the ceiling; tried to forget what caused her mirth. He was the reason for the hurt. He knew some things, could never be forgiven. Could never be forgotten.

'Why did you come back, Dean?'

'I guess even I can't outrun the shit I've done.' He muttered. He looked down, saw how her hands knotted around his waist, locked into place. She didn't want to let go, just in case he escaped once again. It hurt. It really fucking hurt. She was still here, like Mick, she hadn't escaped the prison they'd all fallen into for their difference. How could she have survived so long? She'd been there even before his first stay. Didn't know the outside world anymore. What was there to see? Shit and chaos. But even that, that was so much better than those white walls. 'I'm sorry.'

'Why?'

'You were supposed to come with me.'

She didn't answer that. He could feel her hold tighten a little. Her head buried into the fabric. Her breathing was deep, as if trying to hold back years of sadness. She was trying to be strong. She'd been the first one to approach him. She'd been unafraid of his animalistic nature, she'd not backed down when he'd bitten her, spat and tried to hide away. She'd been patient, come closer, closer each time, until she could touch him, hold him, until the trust warmed. She protected him, pushed away the orderlies, she'd scream and shout for him. Then, he did the same for her. She gave him his courage back, changed him from beast to man. What he'd been in the days before, some creature in the dark, surviving off the streets, a caged animal waiting for its next fight...she'd helped him. Made him something more through her kindness, her loving heart. When Seth had come for him, he'd wanted her to come with him.

He'd failed her.

Couldn't find her in the madness.

'Regal took me away Dean. They knew. '

He let go of the breath it felt like he'd been holding. Hatred bubbled up inside his gut.

'What happened?'

She let go of him, and moved in front. Her hair was so much longer now than he'd remembered. Down to her waist, dark as a rooks wing.

'That doesn't matter. I heard what's going to happen to you Dean...I can't, we can't...it can't happen.'

'Hey,' he wanted to touch her, embrace her, let her know it was all alright. It wasn't. It was fucked. It was so fucking shit, he wanted to bury his head in that white wall. He was screaming inside, he was scared as fuck but he couldn't let them see. They were going to take him apart, fix him. Nothing was broken. Nothing was fucking broken and he didn't want them near him. He didn't want their hands on him. But in that moment, he wanted hers. 'Come on, look at me.'

Slowly, she raised her head. He saw those haunted eyes, lost, afraid, but that spark was still there; dulled, but just looking for a reason to ignite again.

'I'm getting out of this. All of this. I have friends. They're going to help me. Help us.'

'Us?'

'I'm not leaving you here again. You saved me once. It's time for me to return the favour.'

A tear crept from the corner of her eye, she pulled him against her, head against his chest, his chin on her crown. Behind, he felt her hands feel for his, and he curled his fingers around her slender digits.

'We're getting out of here AJ.' He glanced about the room, their own personal hell. The devil's playground. The door which lead into it had a small window, and he could see Satan's own face peering through at him, them. Some sick smirk, some scheme in those wicked eyes. Already things were falling apart and nothing had been set in stone. He felt his gut wrench, but he pushed his face into her hair. 'I promise.'


	18. My House

**ADAMS**

It was only a short drive from Harrison to the small town of Adams, but with her constant gazes over to the bloody and broken man next to her, if felt like an age. He'd barely taken a breath since they'd escaped that...that monster. She could hardly call him a man, she'd never seen a human that big before, that _demonic_. His sheer bulk had reminded her of an animal, of when the winter snows hit back home, her paps dressed up in the warms and thick coats, because even when the cold set in, farms needed to be run. But there had been nothing frozen about that creature. He'd been fire incarnate, she'd felt heat radiate from his body, had seen it burn in his eyes. Hellfire. She'd been told by her grandmamma in church that sometimes the devil found his way into the hearts of humans. A small look to see what had happened to Seth, and she didn't doubt it.

She'd chosen Adams to begin with because it was rural. The long drive to work didn't bother her, because it actually felt like she had to travel for it. Some nights, when shifts were close, or when they ran late, Shawn had made up a bed for her in the booths with warm blankets and even his own personal snoozing pillow. Despite what she'd seen, she found it difficult to believe the old man, the old _fool_ was a threat. Confused perhaps, exploited, but he had a good soul. She'd seen it, she'd heard it in their talks about God. She didn't call herself religious – grown out of it, but Shawn had a strong faith. She found it admirable, and part of her hoped that Seth did. Because he needed all the help he could get. At the thought of Shawn, a question crossed her mind. Did she still have a job? She doubted it...somehow smashing customer's faces in with kettles probably didn't render you employee of the month.

Did she feel guilty?

Not at all.

Seth groaned next to her, slouched against the window. It sounded terrible, but every sound that came from him gave her some relief, because whether they were made in pain or not; they meant he was still alive. Perhaps it was selfish of her, but she didn't want a dead body in her front seat. She didn't know anything about Seth other than what Roman had told her. Their story was a sad one; she didn't envy them. But their brotherhood, the bond they shared, she found it beautiful. To go through everything they had, and to come out the other end still family. It was extraordinary. But then...as she thought back to everything she'd heard of Seth, it did make her wonder if she could trust him. After all, he'd betrayed them before...no she had to put the thought from her mind.

He needed help.

That was all that mattered.

The roads became bumpy, littered with debris from the trees and hedges. The truck was sturdy though, and didn't even seem to notice rolling on over a half fallen young tree. Only around a thousand people lived in Adams, and she hadn't seen a single one of them. Her shifts meant that she slept most of the day and had become a night owl. Within five minutes she pulled up next to a small white walled house. Well. Grey. It needed re-painting, another on a long list of jobs that would probably never be completed. It was basic, but it was hers. Normally her old Chevrolet Lumina sat on the drive; she automatically liked the bulky truck far better. There was a reason she'd asked Roman for his ride rather than hers, the Lumina rarely started first time and wouldn't have been effective in an escape.

'Seth?' she undid her seat belt and leaned over a little, a worried expression tattooed to her face; it hadn't left since she'd first laid eyes on him. 'Seth, we're safe now. Seth?' she reached over, a hand to his bare arm. It was near purple. But at her gentle touch, he twitched seemingly roused. 'Seth. It's me, Renee, I've brought you to my house. You'll be safe in there, warm. But I need you to help me carry you.' She'd struggled the first time. Realizing she was still wearing the gloves, she unstrapped them slowly and pushed them into her apron pocket. Weight for the waist rather than the hands but it was only for now. She opened the door and swung herself out, landing lightly. The wind was significantly calmer, it licked at her clothes, and pulled the trees, but the fury had died, lost in the hills rather than the flats of the Interstate.

She slammed the door shut and moved around to Seth's side. With a hefty tug, the passenger door opened. Seth near fell out on top of her, but he seemed with it enough to somehow keep both feet on the floor. Renee manoeuvred herself to heave an arm over her shoulder, and knocked the door shut. Together, they moved up the short path to the front door, the porch light blinking on. It flickered uneasily; something else that needed fixing. It had probably been knocked loose by the storm. One hand fished in her dress pocket for her house keys, pulled them free and she unlocked the door. A stumble found both of them on the carpet, him on top of her. He groaned from pain, she swore in shock. He was heavy, and for a moment she was winded.

'Seth.'

A short nod.

'Your face is in my cleavage.'

He didn't answer this time. She knew it wasn't his fault, and she would have laughed at any other time, but considering how weak he was feeling, there was probably a real chance of him suffocating. With difficulty, she managed to shuffle out from underneath him. He lay on the beige carpet motionless. What could she do with him? Renee closed her front door and bit her lip. He could go in her bed...or the sofa...he was too tall for the sofa. All of a sudden, Renee found tears in her eyes. They rolled down her cheeks and she felt sobs rise in her throat. Why was she sad? Sad because of the pain she saw? Sad because of the cruelty before her eyes? Were they tears of frustration? She didn't know. But she didn't give herself a chance to reflect and make it worse. Clearing her throat, she smoothed the damp from her cheeks.

She'd endured so much that night. But the man in front of her had taken more. She had nothing to cry about.

'Seth, we need to get you up.' She tried to heave him up, but he was dead weight. 'Seth come on.' She fell backward trying to pull him along. Hands against the carpet she felt so powerless. Where was the strength that had knocked back the monster earlier? Had she expanded all her energy? A soft mew reached her ears, and she glanced behind her. Prowling toward them, was a Russian Blue, proud, her ears high, Lillian. 'Hello baby, we've got a friend. But he doesn't want to move.' Renee let a loving hand run along the kitty's spine. But Lillian was far more interested in the creature on the floor. She moved toward Seth with purpose. Her wet nose nudged his face, rough tongue licked at the exposed skin, a paw in his hair, as if she were trying to rouse him. To Renee's surprise, one of Seth's puffy eyes flicked open.

'Seth?'

He groaned, and actually moved. His body constricted and he rolled onto his side. His broken hand looked awful, but he was moving. He was awake.

'Where am I?'

'This is my house. You're safe now.'

'Who's this?' he nudged himself against the wall, tried to sit upright. Lillian sat in front of him, her head cocked to one side as if expecting praise for her good work.

'My cat.'

His good hand went to his head, felt the blood that welled there, looked over himself. His head went back against the wall. His skin was so pale he could have been a ghost. His injuries needed to be cleaned, dressed. He needed more help than she could give but as she got onto her knees in front of him, she was willing to do what she could. She reached out her hand toward him, gentle eyes wide.

'I'm here to help you Seth. Roman asked me to, and I owe him.'

He regarded her wearily. 'How...do I know this isn't a trick?'

'I rescued you from the big scary man?'

'Could be a ploy.' His voice was barely above a whisper, but he was maintaining a conversation, more than she could have hoped for. 'Gain...my trust.'

'Or it could be the truth. I have no intention of hurting you, and neither does the cat. So you can either trust me, and let me help, or languish in my landing. Your choice sir.'

The hand was still there, offered. He clearly didn't know what to think; confused from the Hypothermia, hurt, lost and alone...she understood. She really did. But she knew where she stood. It was his decision.

Slowly, he reached forward, arm quivering, and caught her hand.


	19. Is It Worth It?

**KENNEDY**

The world was on fire, he was sure he could feel it burn. It rippled over his skin, burned out his hair, a splitting pain as if someone were knocking his head into two. Of all the things he could ever have done. This was the ending of it all. He could barely open his eyes, tried to stand but didn't possess the strength. He could hear them laughing at him, he could feel their hands on him, dragging, jeering, spitting and kicking. Every blow felt like a thousand splinters stuck into his lungs. He'd found himself on the left hand side of hell and necessity. But he was halfway home. His head rolled. He'd been warned. Told that he would have to endure more than he'd ever taken before; he had to know, had to think about what the endgame was. What was waiting; who needed him more than he needed to feel the pain.

They'd pulled him from the trunk of that car, high powered light blinding his eyes, disorientating him as they forced him down, snarling and struggling like a wild animal. They'd bound their catch, silenced him with their fists. He didn't know many of them there were, every fist felt the same after the first hour of blows. No chance to fight, no chance to defend, and all the while he was waiting, waiting to hear that smug voice seep through the violence. To tell them to stop, to let him come closer, to see what had happened to the once indestructible Roman Reigns. It was an eternity. A spiral of consciousness and agony, interchangeable because he didn't know the first from the last; all he knew for sure was the cold granite floor. It was his steadfast, his protection, as long as he was down, he couldn't fall. The barrier between him and further afield. The chill was pleasant on the wounded body. He almost wished for the rain. He'd seen it hours before. He missed its sound, that rumble of thunder. They would have been comforts, to know that the storm would have followed him here.

But it was worth it; it'd all be worth it. He had to let his mind wander to some distant place. Whatever he was feeling; Dean would suffer tenfold. Cesaro had whispered things into his head, told him what would be done. What he'd go through.

_Is it worth it? _

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

'Pull him up.'

There he was.

Hands in his hair as he was wrenched from the bloody puddle he'd laid in. It took four to keep him up; he didn't have any strength of his own. His eyes slithered open, just enough to see the suit bend down in front of him. That cruel smirk etched on that face. Everything he hated and loathed, wrapped into one body, one pair of eyes which seemed to flash in the meagre light. He was nothing more than the scum he tried to quash. He could remember answering to him with a nod. He could remember being applauded for what he did. How they told him that he and his brothers were the future of Kennedy. About how they were the best at what they did; those days were gone. Instead of the pride which had once tattooed itself on the snake's tongue, there was now venomous bile.

'Roman Reigns. I would have thought more of you.' He shook his head. 'Charging in without thinking, wasn't that always Ambrose's problem? It seemed his bad influence is rubbing off on you. Insanity better not have caught, or I'll have to send you where he's gone.' Oh the _humour _of it all. Enemy on a plate and the man just wanted to talk. He could have ordered them to slit his throat, to stamp the life right out of him. He'd not been afraid of handing out punishment before. The scars on his back were testimony to that. 'You came for him didn't you? I knew you would...but you're a man short.' He looked over to the left where Roman knew Cesaro was standing.

'No sign of him sir, but we'll track him down.'

'And so the Shield collapse.' The Game rubbed his hands with glee. 'One of you will break. I want what's mine Reigns. Even if I have to cut it out of you.'

'Good, fucking, luck.' He managed to wheeze, every single word brought pain. His bound hands and arms had died long ago, all he had to fight back was his defiance.

'Hmm. We'll see.' He gestured to Cesaro, who moved over obediently. 'Start with the fingers. He won't be punching through walls anymore, he won't need them.

Cesaro paused. Then, a slow nod.

'Hold him down boys.' The Game stood back, arms folded. Roman struggled, bucked, he registered the flash of Cesaro's prized dagger. He felt as he was weighed down, held in place, the sharp edge of the knife against his finger. He closed his eyes, gritted teeth, waited...

'A thought sir.'

'It had better be a good one.'

The blade withdrew and Roman found himself breathing. He couldn't stop himself from shaking. Too close. Too close.

'Why not throw him into the pits sir? We've seen him fight; it'd be a shame to waste such skill, when we can make money off the bets.'

For a moment the Game looked as if he were about to explode, but then the calculating look returned to his eyes, one finger to his mouth as he thought about it. Think. Think you fucking bastard. Agree with him, do what he suggests. Do it.

'Which opponent? I can't spare any men, they're sparse enough.'

'There is one sir, who comes to mind.'

'Which is?'

'The one man who's never been defeated; who's destroyed everyone who's ever faced him; stick him in against Lesnar sir. No doubt he'll be punished beyond anything we can do to him, it'll be bound to draw a crowd. Imagine the odds – the flurry it will create. Reigns is notorious in Kennedy – even if he survives, the punters won't let him leave alive.' He made a good pitch, Roman even found himself buying into it. He knew the game he was trying to play. If he could defeat Lesnar, there would be a short window that could be used to escape. But there was a massive threat looming over the very notion. He'd never faced Lesnar before, but he'd seen the damage the man beast could cause. He'd stormed through every willing, every promising opponent he'd ever had. He was the top of the ladder; it was why he was becoming a problem for Cesaro. There was no one to fight the man, so Cesaro found himself sent off to do menial tasks.

But a battle between the Beast and the Powerhouse?

That would draw a crowd.

The Game smirked behind his hand.

'Done. Take him. Book it Cesaro. I want the best spot you have; I want to be able to _taste_ his blood.'

Roman found himself manually lifted and dragged away, but just as he did, he caught the eye of the Swiss man, who winked.

It was falling into place.


	20. The Definition Of Insanity

**((I apologize for not posting up a chapter yesterday! Work is a bit hectic at the moment, so I'm afraid I'll be a little slower than usual getting things up. But don't you worry! The chapters are still coming, I'm nowhere near done with this story! Thank you for your continued support!))**

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM, KENNEDY**

Wasn't it nice? Wasn't it all shiny? He thought that he could smell the daylight coming through the walls. The dawn was there in the dust. The last day of thought and the last day of emotion had come with some breaks in the clouds. He was sure he could almost feel the sun in her body heat. Dust crowded the corners of his eyes. What time was it? Where was time anyway? Fuckers; they'd taken his watch. He found himself laid out on the sofa of the recreation room; uncomfortable cushions with stubborn springs made ridges in his back. But he wasn't alone, because she lay atop of him, her hands wound into the grey of his shirt; her black hair was their blanket. Even in sleep her face was troubled. She couldn't summon a smile even in dreams. What did she dream of? Was it escape from these walls, back into the world which had changed so much? When she'd come, she was a child. The rebellion had just begun, the bottom of the ladder rising up to follow a rattlesnake against the Authority. Times had changed. There was no stone cold leader; the head honcho was now younger, was smarter, more of a fuck.

Any mumble of a new fight had been crushed by the Hounds. But when they'd fled, when they'd turned against the hand that fed, he'd heard whispers of something new stirring in the underground, a movement glorified by an underdog, who had only ever been told no. He wasn't good enough for anything; but he never stopped declaring _yes_. Would there be hope for her beyond this place? Would there be life in those eyes when she awoke to find herself in a brave new world, dominated just as much by fear as it was within St. Jude's?

He'd take everything that they could give if she could have a chance.

His hands moved; the shackles not removed by the orderlies, but by his own clever fingers. He'd learned a thing or two from Seth over the years; and for a man who was arrested as many times as he had been, for a man who seemed to spend half his life bound up, he'd learned escapism late. One of his arms was around her still body, holding her close, as if someone might try and snatch her away from him. She was not his possession. But there was that fear that now they were reunited, Regal would actively try to break them apart. The bond they shared was as if dog to master. His loyalty to the woman would find no end. He'd do what he could to protect her. Half-dazed, he found they were alone. The fact they'd been left set him on edge. Something was wrong.

'AJ,' he whispered. He nudged her gently in the side. 'AJ, wake up. Come on honey, open those eyes for me.'

But she didn't. Either she'd found new levels of dormancy, or...no. He tried to sit up beneath her, pulled her up against him; she was breathing, but not responding to him.

'AJ?'

'She won't be with us for a while Mr Ambrose. But don't worry. She'd only sedated, and will recover in an hour or two.'

There, hidden away in a corner, Regal stood with hands atop that fucking cane. His face had lost that smugness, and darkness hung from his eyes, widened the lines on his face, lost his gaze. No sign of where he was looking, what he was feeling; he looked hollow. Empty was the most dangerous a man could be. To have nothing, meant that it didn't matter what you did. It didn't matter what you took or what you broke, there was no reaction. You could never beat, never destroy nothingness; it held victory before you even began. There was no love in nothing.

'I wish to speak with you, Mr Ambrose. Just us, just the two of us, you don't mind that do you? No, no of course you don't. We can't have Miss Lee interrupting us, but she'll be back. I made sure. The dosage was perfect. I check these things because someone has to keep this place running smoothly. The orderlies; they don't know what they're doing; they don't understand the lengths one has to go to run a sanitarium. They don't know what madness is, Mr Ambrose. Do you know?'

He moved forward, into view, quiet steps as if he were a ghost; some spectre in the madhouse. He could have been an apparition, a figment of Dean's imagination – he had been insane once. They told him he still was, but he knew different. He'd been made better. He had.

'They say that the definition of insanity, is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results. I disagree, Mr Ambrose.'

There was that missing piece of his ear. Dean could still taste the cartilage. It seemed, he was garnering a taste of the human. He did as the shark would; without hands to feel, the next was the teeth. He'd tasted Orton; Regal...had come so close to the Game. But he wasn't insane. Regal came to a halt just out of arms reach, knowing that AJ's limp body made it awkward for Dean to try and get to him. Now, he could see those eyes. They were distant, empty as the shell which should have housed his soul.

'I know madness. I see it in every human; madness, Mr Ambrose is the futility of life. The inability to recognize that it's impossible to change what we have been set; it is a weakness in every man. We're programmed to achieve. We reach for the highest star, the biggest salary, for that position above our fellows. I know madness, Mr Ambrose. I decide it. You, you are mad by my decree. You are insane because you cannot contain your raw emotion, your impulse, your instinct. You are a base human, Mr Ambrose. You do not belong in this heightened society. Because you are different, because you are not what they want, you are locked in my little white box, with its white walls. You are mine to toy with, because I say so. The definition of madness, Mr Ambrose is the very fact that one man can decide the fate of another with the scratch of a pen.'

He leaned forward slowly; face inches from Dean, from AJ.

'She is beautiful in her sleep; one of my very favourites. It would be a shame to lose her. You don't plan on taking my AJ away, do you Dean?' he shook his head. 'Of course you don't. I know what you're planning, but it won't work. The definition of insanity, is repeating your actions, and thinking things will change. You lost once before. Expect to do so again.'

Regal cocked his head to one side.

'Are you afraid of me Dean?'

'Dean?' AJ moved a little, eyes not quiet open, her hold on him tight, her forehead creased in a frown. Her mouth was apart, body not sure where it was; hazed and confused from what they'd pushed into her as she'd slept.

'Do not forget me Dean. Do not forget what I have told you. Let these words be the ones that you remember as they cut into your brain, as they sever the ties. Remember this face. I will be your final memory. Your final clarity, you are alone, and once I am done with you Dean, I shall be all that will make sense, and all that you adore. I shall cure you of your madness. You shall thank me with your soul.'

She moved again with shallow breaths. Dean found his arms had locked around her, his heart against hers so she'd know he hadn't abandoned her. That he never would. She wasn't lost. She would never be alone again. He'd throw it all away; he'd do whatever was needed for her shot in the dark. Events could repeat themselves, but he would change the outcome; even if it would be her through the open door, and him strapped down. She would be free.

He kissed the top of her frown. Tried to give her sweet dreams instead of nightmares; tried what he knew. His sweat had been taken away by the love of two men, brothers from the shadows and the endless Russian roulette. He was sure he could see her blood beat through those veins.

The sound of the door shut.

The only sign that he'd seen anyone real; that insanity had been in the room...the thin line between man and monster was needle thick. They lay, and he felt like they were drowning, falling down through an endless void. The fear that stuck inside him closed his eyes, brought the heaviest breaths he'd ever suffered. Regal had handed him the gun. If help came, he knew that he'd been tossed a careless choice. When the time came, he'd have to chose where to point, and to pull the trigger; on Regal, or on himself.


	21. No Matter Where I Hide

**((Thank you to everyone for being so patient! My shifts at work have changed, so hopefully I'll be able to start updating regularly again! Please continue to let me know what you think! This is quite a long chapter, hopefully that'll make up for the wait!))**

**ADAMS**

He lay in that bed as if he'd always been there. But something she noticed, was he would stray to the left, as if expecting someone to be laying next to him, one hand reached out onto that empty side. It almost bothered her. Who was he missing? Who had once be there for him to hold, but was missing now? In the doorway, she could have been an observer, a carer just checking in on a patient, but in the room, she felt as if she were part of the scene. Like she should have gone and laid down next to him so that he didn't feel so lonely in his sleep. Now in the warm and that she'd forced some soup down his raw throat, he seemed to be far more settled. She'd dressed his wounds as best she could; but his hand? It lay on top of the covers. She stood next to him; arms crossed, and looked down at the fingers. They'd been snapped in all directions; it would take far more than her tapping them together to fix those – he could be crippled for an eternity. She bit her lip, hugged herself a little tighter.

'Why would someone want to hurt you so badly Seth?' the words escaped her lips before she had time to stop them; questions that she just couldn't keep inside her brain. Roman had told her they'd stolen something; had the red monster been after answers as much as she was? What could be so important that Seth would take so much to keep it a secret? To keep it safe? They'd all risked so much...for a moment her mind drifted back to the warehouse. That was where they'd been before Roman had decided to take a road trip...logic dictated that whatever they'd taken would be hiding there.

She was almost tempted to go hunting, but knew, that without knowing what she was looking for, it would be pointless; a sovereign among a mountain of coins. Renee turned and took a mug off the window sill, still hot, her cocoa she'd put down when she'd entered the room. It near burned her hands but after the intense cold of the night, she was grateful of the feeling. Her waitress uniform was hung up in the kitchen, strung from various pegs. A hot shower had found her feeling human again, and she'd slipped into a jumper, trackers and slippers. Winter still lurked at her windows, but at least, there and then, they could both forget about the cold.

Seth had been reluctant to let her touch him at first. But with her insistence and kind words, she'd managed to convince him. She was rather proud of her efforts; the temptation to ring her mother had been overwhelming, but she knew the woman would not be best pleased at her ringing at that time of night, nor the news that her daughter had a fugitive in her bed.

He had such slender hands. Thieving fingers. It almost made her smile. What a strange dream this all was. She was sure at some point she'd wake up and find herself back in Mama's, taking orders and delivering burgers. Her reality had never been so dangerous or exciting.

Renee lifted the mug to her mouth and took a generous gulp of the smooth chocolaty goodness. Fuck the diet. She deserved this.

As she lowered her head, she near jumped when she noticed Seth had opened his eyes. The mug nearly hit the floor, but she managed to secure her grip and put it back on the sill without too much trouble.

'Hey, how're you feeling?'

His good hand went to his head and rubbed it. She'd had to force the covers under the mattress so that he couldn't throw them off. As soon as she was dressed, she'd been straight on the laptop looking up symptoms of hypothermia, and how to treat it. When you didn't have answers – to Google! She'd pulled out the winter blankets from under the bed and near covered him. On the bedside table was another mug of hot chocolate, and a thermometer. She'd very nearly pulled out an old nurse tiara she had in the cupboard from a fancy dress party years before; but thought the better of it. She wanted Seth to feel safe, not be worried she was suddenly going to go all Annie Wilkes on him and start hammering limbs. He had enough things broken.

'Tired...' his voice was stronger than before, but not loud. 'Cold,' He shivered down under the blankets before grunting in pain. 'Fucking ribs...'

Good, swearing was good. In her experience people swore when they were feeling better.

'You're lucky Seth, could be a lot worse. If Roman hadn't somehow pulled me into this mess, he may have come back to a dead body.'

To her surprise, the man shook his head, 'He doesn't want me dead,' eyes flicked to the mug beside him, then despairingly down to his busted hand. Renee understood, hurried over, picked up the mug and very gently allowed him to sip from it. Luckily his bruised face had already started to go down, he had an odd purple yellow tinge, but better than it was. The cut on his forehead had turned out smaller than she'd thought. Seth nodded, and she put the mug back down. 'Love cocoa...used to have it all the time.'

'If that monster didn't want you dead Seth, he was doing a pretty brutal job of keeping you alive.'

'That monster, his name is Kane. We don't get along.'

'I can tell.'

'He was sent by the Game...wanted answers. He can always find me. No matter where I hide.'

A horrible shiver rolled up Renee's spine.

'He can...always find you? You mean he'll come here?'

A grim nod from Seth; she looked around her beloved little house. This was her home. She'd bought it herself; this was her shelter, her sanctuary. The very thought of that _Kane_ finding it...

'Why can he always find you?'

'That's what he does. He's known as _the Devil's Favourite Demon_, he finds people. He gets what he needs from them...then they die.'

'But not you?'

He shook his head; something she could tell hurt him. 'Didn't give him what he wanted. Didn't give it up; went through too much shit getting hold of it in the first place.'

Slowly, Renee sat on the side of the bed, careful to avoid causing him pain or touching him in anyway. She just needed a minute. Every single time she asked a question, she received answers she didn't like. These were marked men, foolish men it seemed...unable to outrun the demons hunting them down. For a moment, there was silence. But then, slinking around the corner of the bedroom door came a familiar ball of fluff. Lillian purred and played around her mistress' legs. Renee leaned forward and scooped up the cat, placed her in her lap and stroked her absently, eyes out the window at the winds .

'What did you take from the Game Seth?' she looked down to Lillian, whose eyes were on Seth, as they had been since he came into her home. He, and all his troubles, and she was the guilty one, because she'd been the one to drag him there. She'd delivered him to her own door, and only now, finally, after the adrenaline was gone, was she ready to start feeling afraid.

The same look she'd been given by Roman earlier answered her; that testing, knowing look which felt as if her character was being judged. But Seth's eyes were different to Roman's. It felt like he was seeing straight through into her actual brain, because his gaze was on her forehead, not her eyes. As if he was trying to read her thoughts. What could it possibly be that they wanted to keep it such a secret from her? That they were so willing to protect?

'It was never his to begin with,' Seth closed his eyes, head dug back into the pillow. She wanted to throw something at that face, he was mocking her.

'Don't you sleep, don't you dare. I want to know.'

One eye slipped open, just a slither, and for the first time since they'd met, he looked her in the eye.

'No, you don't.'

'Try me.' She leaned forward, frown etched on her face. 'I'm not scared of you. What terrifies me is not knowing; I'm a part of this now Seth. I need you to understand that, because anything I don't know could kill me.'

He laughed at her then. She wanted to push down on those broken ribs. She _hated_ him in that moment. Renee moved from the bed, made to leave, Lillian falling to the carpet. But just as she was about to go through that door, something made her stop, one hand on the frame...waiting. If she was patient, if she didn't allow her emotions to get the better of her...perhaps she'd win. But he said nothing. The laughter had eased, but her anger had not. She left him alone in that dark room. Alone, save for a patch of grey blue fur, which jumped up onto the bed with ease. Who curled herself up next to the slowly warming body there. His fingers reached out, scratched her ears.

'The further away she is the safer..._knowing_ is what'll kill her...think she hates me?' his soft voice asked the cat. Lillian looked up at him, blinked, and mewed. He sighed, 'Thought so.' He closed his eyes. He'd slept better in this bed than he had in his own months before. Perhaps it was the comfort of knowing the only eyes watching him meant no harm. But then...his head rolled to the side and found that empty space once again; occupied by a cat. A small smile cut his lips. So this was safety? He could get used to it.

* * *

Renee sat at the kitchen table and scribbled furiously. The black pen scratched against the paper, tearing in places but she didn't care. She just needed to get him the fuck out of her system. After all she did, all she was rewarded with was silence and laughter. She didn't know anything more. She was risking her life for men who didn't seem to care or even notice. She was giving strangers her trust, when they refused to give it back. After what felt like only minutes had passed, she sat back in her chair, and let the pen drop to the floor. It hit the kitchen tiles, rolled under the table but she didn't care. Her elbows were on the wood, head in her hands, long blond hair fell about. She stared absently at the page in front of her, not seeing anything beyond the mass of lines. Where was Mr Cesaro? She felt the need to smash someone with a kettle again. Somehow she didn't think it would go down too well with Roman if she tried that on Seth...

Roman.

She blinked, cocked her head a little to the left. She thought she'd just been tearing at the page, but now that she looked, _really_ looked...it did almost; if you looked at it...it did look like him. How weird. Maybe he was just as much in her bad books as Seth. But it seemed even in her rage he had those same intense eyes and pronounced jaw. Who was this third member of their party? This Dean Ambrose they so worried about? What was he like? Was he anywhere near as infuriating as his brothers? She traced the lines of Roman's hair. Had he angered her? Really? Perhaps...but he'd always somehow made up for it.

Except now he hadn't. He was nowhere to be seen whilst she dealt with his arsehole brother. He was off playing hero. If he'd managed to follow the plan...had he actually made it into the car? She hadn't hung around to find out...she should have stayed, given him some form of get away in case everything hadn't gone according to plan. Guilt suddenly welled up inside, and she pulled her mobile from her pocket. Nothing; from anyone, let alone an unknown number. Maybe he just didn't have access to a phone. Pretty fucking likely considering what he was trying to do. But then, it had been hours now...wouldn't he have tried to find one, just to ease her concerns?

Arsehole.

She sighed and put the phone on the table. Food. She wanted food. Specifically something covered in peanut butter. Fuck the diet.

Just as toast popped and she set to assaulting it with bananas and peanutty goodness, there was a short _bleep bleep_. She didn't even remember moving, but found herself at the table, phone in hand, checking, waiting. Damn thing was taking too long to open messages! Her fingertips were coated in peanut butter but she didn't care.

Words came up, her eyes widened.

_I'm in Kennedy. I have to fight in the underground for a chance to get to Dean. Keep Seth safe. _

_I'm alright. Don't do anything stupid, stay out of sight. If something happens, remember, some __**dirty deeds**__ can be forgiven. _

Her eyes glance over to the gloves which lay on the work top, where she'd dumped them earlier. They looked harmless, but she could remember the feel of cartilage shifting, of bone crunching, the _sound_. Renee put down the phone. As soon as she did, it blinked again.

_Stay safe Renee, I'll be back soon_.

An unsteady smile tugged her lips, and she licked peanut butter from the end of a finger.


	22. Kill The Idea

**((We're back to Roman for this chapter! Once again, thank you for sticking with the story despite the delays!))**

**KOW UNDERGROUND ARENA, KENNEDY**

He'd been sat in the chair for over an hour; his only movement the two and fro rock which moved him like the tide. He hadn't had a thought for minutes, his eyes burned through the concrete floor. They'd dressed his wounds and bound his ribs and shoulder; they'd allowed him to eat and removed the ties that had bound him. Already he could hear the roars of a budding crowd, people arriving in their droves. A frenzy of betting had broken out only minutes before hand. He'd heard Cesaro's voice just above the chaos, calling the shots, taking money and names. But louder than it all, was the sound of his own heavy heartbeat. He didn't know what lay ahead of him; he knew his opponent through reputation alone. The KOW was Dean's area, not his. His style of fighting was radically different from that of his brother. Dean was vicious as a cornered hyena, he _found_ ways of winning through ridiculous means, sheer bloody-mindedness, and a determination that Roman had never seen matched. Would Dean have survived against a man like Lesnar? Roman didn't know...and couldn't have possibly known what was in store for him.

They kept him waiting. They wanted him to panic, but when he'd been pushed into the room, the Game had warned him that should he try and escape, there would be guards waiting. Guards he could handle, but he didn't know numbers, he didn't know locations. The logistics were the difference between winning and losing...and he had nothing. Nothing but the two hands were in front of him, resting upturned on his knees, palms facing the heavens as if he had a prayer. But there was nothing to say; only actions. He felt the floor vibrate, hammer with the stomps of the never ending crowd; how would they fit so many in this place? Did everyone truly want to see the blood of Roman Reigns paint the fists of _the Beast_? Perhaps. Enemies outnumbered friends; even if it had been through misunderstanding, Roman knew he was completely alone in this mad venture. This was only a chance, and Cesaro had been very keen to explain that the window of escape was short; and only open in the first place should he win. There was a very real chance he wouldn't.

Roman opened and closed those hands, turned them to fists and stared at the knuckles. Dean called his right hook the Superman Punch, called him the _Powerhouse, the Big Dog, the Juggernaut_...all names he'd worn at different times. But he'd left them in Kennedy when he'd left. It seemed strange to even try and wear them again.

The door opened, and a body, doubled over shuffled in. As soon as it was shut, it hurried to Roman's side and dropped to its knees next to him. A crazy mass of hair, the face was obscured, but from the hands came a tumble of tape.

'We don't have a lot of time.' the voice was soft, almost high, as if someone had trodden on a dog's toy and left it to wheeze. Roman stared at the hairy creature incredulously, and even flinched when they started to wrap his left hand. 'You're Roman Reigns aren't you? Yes...they've been chanting your name, baying for your blood...I'm here to help you Mr Reigns. I was sent, I have news, messages.' The tape was tight, but secure, wrapped extra around the knuckles to save him from himself.

'News...of what?'

'Of a friend of yours...I know Dean Ambrose. He's in the halls of St. Jude's again, I tried to help him, but he wouldn't let me in case they caught me. But I said I would, I told him I'd get word to his friends.'

'Dean?' he near shouted it. The hair looked up, finally revealing an equally shabby face, with child like eyes which looked at him panicked, a gnarled finger was raised to scarred lips.

'Shh.'

'Is he alright?'

'As well as he can be...Mr Regal is taking his brain tonight.' He ripped the tape to a halt, then shuffled along the dusty floor to the other side and began on the other hand. 'But I'm going to help you help him. With Lesnar out the way there are ways into St. Jude's – so many ways!'

'What ways?' Roman hissed; his eyes flicked to the door but there was no sign of movement. They couldn't hear what was going on inside because of the commotion beyond. He'd never stepped foot into one of the arena's themselves before; only stood guard at passages and exits to keep away unwanted attentions whilst Seth went in to get Dean out. He belonged on the streets, not below them; this was not his world.

'The boiler room.' The man gripped Roman's hand tightly in his two. 'The boiler room is unguarded, and there are ways through it down into these passages.'

'How do you know?'

'I made them!' he laughed, a crazed sound; it made Roman wonder if the man was as escapee from the sanitarium or genuinely there to help him; but he wasn't in any position to question what he was being told. He needed everything he could get, from a madman or otherwise. 'I broke through with bare hands and teeth, but Mrs Foley's little boy isn't the only one who uses them, oh no. They echo, I hear people chanting, shouting through my hallways.' He cupped a hand to his ear, 'Listen! You can almost hear them now!'

Roman raised his eyebrow. 'I don't hear -,'

A hand gripped round the back of his neck and dragged him down to the cold floor. 'Listen!' the other man had his ear pressed directly to the dirty ground, but the smile on his mouth, the calm as he closed his eyes, made Roman do the same. He felt stupid, was wasting precious mental time entertaining the thoughts of a potentially crazy man ((but who was he to judge? He hung out with Dean)), but with a deep sigh, he placed his ear to the concrete.

He was pretty sure all he felt were the vibrations.

'Yes, yes, yes, yes,' the man whispered.

Roman frowned, and strained his hearing to that beyond the crowd. Wait...there...he closed his eyes.

_Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!_

'What is that?'

'The revolution my friend!' the man was on his knees now and pulled Roman up onto his own. 'They whisper in my halls, they talk of fighting back. Imagine! I remember the rattlesnake...'

'That was a long time ago. We destroyed the rebels.'

'But you didn't kill the idea,'

Roman found the man's dirty finger far too close to his face. 'The idea is still out there, and now people are starting to think that there is a way. That fighting back can be as simple as saying one word: _yes_.'

Taped hands pushed the man back, 'Get away from me. I don't have time for rebellions, I'm not here for your crazy talk. I'm only in Kennedy for Dean, and when we're together, I'm taking him away from this shit storm city. We'll go somewhere safe, where we can't and won't be bothered. Kennedy is the past.'

'I remember the past. The past was bloody; I was younger then, had a different face. They used to say I was ugly and hid me behind a mask. But I remember it all; who I was. Before they hid me; they used to call me Cactus Jack.'

Roman stared. He may not have recognized the short order chef, but this was one name which made him uneasy. He moved back a little. Dean had told him of the man known as Cactus Jack. The madness which possessed him, the violence of what he did; no thought, no plan, just pure glee. He was thought impossible to kill; had sustained injuries more than what any man should have lived through. This troll; this creature in front of him, with those wide, almost innocent eyes...it couldn't be the monster that Dean had spoken of – a man of legend in Kennedy.

'I will help you. If you win, I'll take you through the tunnels to Dean.'

'And if I don't?'

'Then I'll give you a jolly funeral in a lovely casket...been in a few of those...they're quite snug.'

'Great. Thanks.' The world of comfort, right there. Roman pushed himself up from the floor. The cold rippled over his skin; they'd stripped him of his coat and vest, left him bare-chested in the wasteland of the room. Patches of the walls and ceiling were mouldy from neglect. It could have been a bunker to keep you safe from nuclear fallout. He doubted even Cesaro knew the true origins of the place he built his fights. In a few short minutes, he could be alive or dead. It was a feeling that was almost numbing, and spread through his entire body, from his core, through to his fingers and toes to the tips of his ears. His muscles strained beneath inked and scarred skin. 'This will hurt...' he muttered.

'Yes. It will. But only if you let it.'

'Meaning?'

'I've been thrown off buildings before, my ear was torn off, I lost teeth, broke bones...all the surgeries.' He moved that nest of hair aside to show the ruined ear. 'But I carried on, because there was always something more important on the other side of it; something worth the pain.'

_Is it worth it?_

Roman nodded gravely. He understood. He cracked his head and his shoulders, and the man stood in front of him.

'My name is Mick Foley. Save Dean, Mr Reigns. He's my friend.'

'He's mine too Mick...mine too.'

The door suddenly swung open. Roman placed a hand on Mick's sweating shoulder, and nodded. He knew pain; what he'd suffered over the years seemed almost nothing compared to what the other man had been through. Half-crazed; there was something in Mick' face he couldn't help but trust, the way he pleaded with him to save Dean...the Shield weren't the only brotherhood in the world. He knew that; and Mick was a simple reminder that the picture was always far bigger than the fragment he focused on. But then, and there, what was coming was his focus. For a moment, he stared at that open door, thoughts flicked to Renee and Seth, hoped they were safe, and glad they weren't there to witness what was going to happen.

There was a thin line between men and monsters, and as he walked toward that door, he kicked dust over the threshold, and headed out into the hunger.


	23. The Bets Are In

**((H'okay! So there's going to be a slight change up in this chapter; as seen in the bonus chapter way back along, we're moving into the Game's POV for a portion - the part in italics - I hope this makes sense to everyone, please enjoy!))**

**KOW UNDERGROUND ARENA, KENNEDY**

_He'd waited for this. _

_Although it had only been month since the descent had begun, since the troubles had started, it felt like the struggle had been longer. The Hounds had been tugging at the leash well before they'd turned, jaws clamped down and ran off howling into the distance. What had happened to push them so far? Perhaps it was the decision to have them punish all; rather than those they deemed wrong. He'd allowed them their self-righteous philosophy, but it had grown stale. By now their retaliation was famed. Most of Kennedy knew of the battles between the Shield and the Authority. It was just another page in the violent history of the city. Whilst at the time he and his people had been proven beaten, their continued pressure had procured Seth Rollins. From there, it was a matter of time..._

_Of course, like all games, he became bored of toying with the thief. Allowed him to beg and barter his way back into the favour of the men he'd betrayed, just to start a brand new hand. They'd been fools, taken what was precious to him, and run like dogs. But he'd hunted them down; within hours, one would be invalid, and the other, dead. One left to chase, the betrayer. As he sat in the chair brought for him, he adjusted himself to comfort, rubbed his hands with glee. _

_At home his beautiful wife was sleeping; their three daughters lost in wonderful dreams. They knew nothing of the carnage which would be soon taking place. But he knew the smile would cross his wife's mouth when she knew what had happened. This was her war as much as it was his. He was the front of the Authority; but it was her legacy. Kennedy, its surrounding cities...all of it belonged to her. She was the brain behind his bulk. Whilst he knew she would condemn him for not waking her to share the news of Reign's capture, the news of his death at the hands of Lesnar would surely buy him favour once again._

_The private box he sat in was usually inhabited by the rats which swarmed every other available space. The scum of the city were vermin. Cesaro knew their language, how they bought into blood and bone. They would descend on his arena like the plague, all floundering, gagging for the sight of violence to break their soulless lives. He watched them now, held back by wire fences that they threw themselves against to just try and get closer to the carnage. Pathetic excuses for human beings. There were few he counted among his circle; those he decided were worthy, through blood or through their loyalties to him. _

_To his left, stood Randall Orton. Young, but strong, he was as the snake, forever coiled, forever ready to strike out of nowhere. They had a long history, and Hunter credited himself as being the one who had brought the lad out of the gutter. He'd seen the potential, the hatred in those eyes of his, the predatory nature that he knew he could bend and use. He allowed him to flourish, but knew when to cut him down. Randy had too much ambition, ambition that needed to be kept in check. His supreme hatred for the Shield had been cemented after their first meeting; but even more so when he'd been assigned to watch over Rollins. The two had clashed harder than titans, a collision which had found Rollins on his two feet, and Randy beaten and brain damaged. His lucidity was debateable, and his actions impulsive; blamed on these __**voices **__he claimed to hear...the only voice that was important was that of the Game. Any others would be beaten to silence should they cause problems._

_On the right of him, was the __**Animal**_, _Dave Batista. _

_Their history was...chequered to say the very least. Old allies; they'd gone their separate ways for a long while. But when Hunter had called on him, he'd emerged from the wilderness to stand beside him. Batista was a brute through and through, he needed telling, thought little for himself; the perfect soldier. He obeyed without question, he fought for victory. _

_He'd called the two of them to be his lieutenants. So far, they had not disappointed. Randy had arms crossed; his hand bandaged from where the lunatic Ambrose had attempted to bite his fingers off. He'd failed, the digits had been saved, and Randy could have some closure from what was to come for the madman. They were unaffected by the noise; stood motionless, waiting._

_Cesaro stood in the centre of the makeshift arena, built from raw materials and the remains of the underground bunkers which made the foundation of the city. On occasion, after heavy rainfall, parts would give way, and entire buildings would tumble down into the depths, revealing yet another part of the labyrinth. The Swiss man wore his best suit, despite the filth that he stood in. There was little in the way of actual ground. The floor was cleared somewhat to allow some decent movement, but rubble and old building parts remained, and could be used as weapons if desired. _

'_Welcome to KOW Arena!' he had to shout at the top of his lungs to be heard over the chaos. 'We have brought you blood, we have brought you mayhem, we have brought you death; but today we bring you a battle never before seen!' The crowd drunk it up and even the Game himself leaned forward in his chair, a hand rubbed his chin in anticipation. 'The undefeated Beast, Brock Lesnar! Versus the Big Dog, Roman Reigns! The bets are in, the fight is on!'_

_The screams, it was akin to nothing he'd ever seen or heard before. He felt as Caesar, sat above the Coliseum, waiting to declare life or death. _

_There was a wide entrance behind Cesaro, a tunnel which lead out to the bunkers which were used to hold the competitors. From the shadows, to the rabid roars of the crowd, came two figures. One was tall, built like a bulldozer, with a rock like skull atop the body. The other more resembled a walrus, fat. But one was never without the other._

'_Introducing first, accompanied by his manager Paul Heyman...Brock Lesnar!' _

_Yes. Yes this would be excellent. He'd seen Lesnar in action before, had seen what he could do to even those considered the best in the world. He'd toppled champions and gods among men. Any who'd dared to step into battle with the Beast, had been defeated, decimated, destroyed. He wasn't much of a talker; that was left to the fat man next to him. Heyman could sell honey to bees. Neither was part of the Authority. Lesnar was a mercenary, the only languages he knew were brutality and money. The Authority had plenty of the latter, and the arena gave the former. Lesnar himself bobbed on the spot, in perfect shape, ready for what came. _

'_And now, his opponent! Former member of the Shield – The Hounds of Justice! Roman Reigns!'_

_Lesnar had moved to the other side of the fight space, tiny eyes fixed on the entrance mouth. Slowly, so very slowly, as a man walking toward his own death, came Reigns. He stopped at the edge of the arena floor, one hand raised to protect his eyes from the glare of the lights which were hooked to the rafters of the underground arena. He was bashed up, bashed in, one eye near swollen shut from the beating they'd given him. All over his bare chest and arms were signs of injury, stiffness, soreness...he was just a piece of discount steak to throw to Lesnar. The Game clicked his fingers, and from behind, where he'd been lurking next to a makeshift bar, JBL rushed forward and slipped a whiskey into his boss' hand. As the two competitors moved forward to face one another, Hunter took a sip and smirked. This was the life._

* * *

He hadn't anticipated the hatred which fell on him from the crowd. He could hear the death threats; he heard the jeers and sickening insults. His history was not forgotten among the people. There, across from him, was the undefeated monstrosity. It was strange to see him in a human body; all the rumours, all the whispers...they all talked of something immortal, some great beast who could mow down all in his path. Some talked of a man seven feet tall, others said he could make the earth move with every step. But here he was. This Brock Lesnar. Roman felt his muscles pull, sore still, as he stepped forward on the uneasy ground. Debris was scattered everywhere...and he realized why Dean always returned so ruined. This wasn't just about fighting; it was about demolishing your opponent. The closer he came...the less he feared this man. The myth gave way to human skin and bone, a creature his height and his build.

With a fucking great sword tattooed to his chest.

For a second, Roman's eyes flicked to his own ink; his tribute to his family and his lineage. There was nothing great, nothing historic or proud of that phallic chest piece. It looked ridiculous when it was supposed to seem hard, supposed to seem _dangerous_. This Brock Lesnar...he was no god. He was a man.

Men could be beaten.

Cesaro stood between them. His gaze flicked between the two competitors, but lingered a little longer on Roman. There was something in those eyes, almost a flash of warning, as if saying _be careful_. The intensity of Lesnar's stare was enough to make Roman challenge him physically. He moved up against him, chest to chest, foreheads butted, nose to nose. Not a word uttered, not a word needed. He wasn't afraid. He would fight to the last. Behind it all, Heyman lurked, a box of tricks in the wings should Lesnar need interference. Somehow, Cesaro managed to force himself between the two goliaths.

'No rules gentlemen, the match is over by submission, a competitor is unable to continue...or death. Are we clear?'

Something was rising, an odd rhythm, a heartbeat almost. The spectators had the rungs of the wire fence, pulled it back, and slammed it against its fastenings and poles. They'd begun their own countdown; their own declaration of the match's beginning. Roman chanced a glance around at a thousand or more faces he'd never seen before. But there, in his royal box, glass in hand, smug, sick smirk pinned in place, watched the Game. He downed the rest of his drink, and tossed the glass lazily into the arena. As soon as it smashed, Lesnar lurched forward. Begin.


	24. Remember Me

**((And here is a new chapter for you! So very sorry about the delay, house hunting overtook my brain process for a few days, please forgive me for holding you in suspense, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please let me know if you do!))**

**KOW UNDERGROUND ARENA, KENNEDY**

It was strange how a man of so little faith in others could take so long to find it in himself. Roman's strength had always been applied to save the lives of others, and he couldn't remember a time that he'd employed it to try and keep himself alive. The endgame was Dean; but that moment, as the _Beast_ came toward him, a flash of realization, that cold truth hit him. He'd discussed it in his head, had known it all along, but there, then, he knew, that if he didn't fight back with every single thing he had, he'd never make it out of the pit. Dean's fate did not matter if he didn't survive.

Lesnar crashed into him with such force; a shoulder straight between the ribs that drilled Roman back, his boots skidded along the dusty floor, rubble tried to send him down. Somehow he'd managed to grip a hold of the body and so kept his footing. They came to a stop, and some curious ache stilled his breathing. Lesnar didn't stop, meaty hands dug into the skin of Roman's arm, and with a cruel smirk, he turned and used his own momentum to fling the body over. He didn't care for physics, he did not care for weight; the fact Roman was the same size was no consequence. He was just another opponent to crush into the dirt. The impact of hitting the floor knocked the wind from him, and the back of Roman's head hit the concrete floor with a sickening crunch. Dazed, he blinked his eyes rapidly, tried to gather his bearings, tried to ignore the rock like pain in his chest. He swallowed over and over, tried to wet his dust clogged throat. Lesnar seemed to have stopped, and Roman was vaguely aware of booted feet bouncing just out of his vision. Here, on the floor, he couldn't hear the jeers of the bloodthirsty crowd; but he felt their vibrations. They rumbled through the ground, made the tiniest rubble flints jump from the floor. Was this their causing? Or were the voices Foley heard below rising to the surface?

'Get up,' a kick to the ribs turned him over, and he somehow managed to scramble up onto his feet. Unsteady, he shook his head, long hair loose, a tumble of black which almost seemed to blind him. But through the strands he saw the _Beast_ come closer, a streak of blond and pink muscle which impacted like a freight train. He didn't carry Roman back. He stopped. Arms linked about the waist and Roman felt his stomach drop into his boots as he was heaved. Released.

His body smacked into a pile of discarded concrete slabs, and he felt the gash on his forehead reopen, felt every part of his body throb. How could Dean keep coming back to this? What was there to gain from the mindless violence of it all? Roman had turned his back on needlessness when they'd escaped Kennedy; what was there to be said for men who enjoyed the pain? Who relished the splinter of bone and the blossom of bruise and blood? Their blood must have been nuclear. But the mere thought of Dean then, as he shook the rising agony away and somehow stumbled down to face Lesnar again, made him stand tall. He'd taken beatings before.

Why would this be different to any other?

But his defiance didn't rock Lesnar. At Heyman's urging, he roared forward, swung a great fist. Somehow Roman managed to block the first, countered a punch of his own to the abdominal area. But Lesnar didn't even flinch. Knuckles collided with Roman's jaw, near knocked him down, but somehow he caught himself. Lesnar hit like the very sledgehammer that leaned against the chair the Game lounged in. Another first found Roman's exposed stomach; another to the chest, the stomach, jaw, shoulder, chest, stomach, jaw, shoulder and chest...there was training here. This wasn't just wild punches; Lesnar knew how to target body parts. He was trying to break Roman into pieces; not to just claim victory, but to destroy his opponent.

Roman took the next shot to the stomach; but twisted into it, back bent back, the jaw shot glanced off and he caught hold of the massive arm of Lesnar, lowered and smashed a hardy elbow straight into the _Beast's_ nose. A delightful crunch echoed. Heyman stared in shock. The punters were silenced. The Game sat forward in his chair; amazed. Roman dignified himself few seconds to breathe, enough time to see the first dribbles of blood ooze from the nostrils of the unbeatable man in front of him. An odd sense of pride near stilled him, almost made him cocky, but he didn't have time to gloat. His body was screaming but he knew he had to fight on. Roman lurched forward, boot slammed down onto Lesnar's foot, hands smacked the ears; the right fist closed tight, cocked, raised, and ready to smash the rest of that face –

Fingers wrapped around his wrist, halted his attack without effort. Roman found himself near dangling. A cruel darkness had fallen over Lesnar; his head was bowed, but Roman could almost _sense_ the change that was coming over him...was what he'd already suffered nothing? He swallowed, and swung his foot forward, hoped to chance a heavy shot to the balls, try to rectify this. But Lesnar carelessly swung him to the side; Roman found his body against the wire of the walls. Hands clawed through; they grabbed at his hair, nails dug into his skin. He roared against them, managed to tear himself free...and leaving handfuls of hair behind. He had to blink the pain away, could feel as blood started to well over his skull.

Cesaro was stood out of harm's way, on a slightly raised platform just below where the Game sat and admired the bloody view. His arms were folded, one hand to his mouth. Roman breathed heavily, for second forgetting where he was; was that concern in the eyes of his enemy? But he made no attempt to warn him as Lesnar's arms enveloped him like chains. He locked his hands in place, pinned Roman's body and started to crush. How was he so strong? Roman could barely breathe, felt as broken rips and bruised spine cried, as his muscles burned, lungs constricted. Darkness pooled in the corners of his eyes, his head lolled to his shoulder. Who was that face in the crowd? The one who looked almost sad at the sight of another falling to Lesnar? They looked disappointed.

How...how fucking dare they?

Would they step into this ring? Did they understand? Did they know what had brought him to this point? Could they even begin to imagine the torture that his body had endured? Did they know his brain? What made him who he was? Did they see the exhaustion, and the almost evil temptation to just give in and sleep? To let all the hell end?

Did they know who he was?

His teeth gritted. Muscles bulged. Effort cracked his bones and he braced himself against the arms which bound him. The unshakeable focus in Lesnar's eyes cracked too.

He was only a man. Just a man. He'd made him bleed.

With a great roar, Roman forced his arms outward, somehow managed to make his opponents knuckles slip, the grip to break. He landed awkwardly, one knee to the ground, but raised himself up from the dust. His tongue flicked out to taste the blood which ran; fingers touched the wound, hard, rough fingers. They weren't gentle or kind. He didn't have a gentle heart. He didn't have kindness in those clenched fists; perhaps the memory of her would guide him to mercy. Perhaps the thought of his brothers suffering would bring him to murder.

'Come on Lesnar!' he taunted, feet braced against the floor. Roman threw himself forward, every step like thunder, every second passed faster and faster, right fist raised, and shot. It tasted cheekbone and spat out blood and teeth from Lesnar's mouth. The _Beast_ was undeterred, simply spat, a smirk on that gash of a mouth at his prey fighting back; but he was mistaken. He wasn't the hunter. They were equals. Two wild animals locked in a box to battle it to the death. Breathing was difficult, his vision swam but he wouldn't give up, he wouldn't back down, and he certainly wasn't fucking losing this to a man with a cock sword on his chest. Lesser men had fallen from his infamous _Superman Punch_ (Dean and his fucking nicknames) but he knew it would take more than locked and loaded knuckles to take down Lesnar.

The rubble was scattered all around them. Pieces lurked in solitude with smashed edges, others huddled in groups, a carpet of cracks and splinters that could impale or break bone if used right. Some were great chucks, too heavy to be moved, others ball sized, all dangerous. Metal pipe and old plastic webbing were caught in the stone and the fine dust from the destruction. The environment was a weapon as much as their own two hands. Lesnar knew this; as one of his great mitts wrapped around one of the exposed pipes and jerked it free, caused a half landslide that his manager jumped out of the way to avoid with a pig like squeak. He dragged it, let it scrape along that floor, a chalk line followed as the sound punctured Roman's ears.

Roman moved back uneasily, eyes flicked left and right, searched through the rising dust for something with which to combat the new threat. But someone beat him to it. Before he realized what happened, he found himself on his back, a foot down on his wrist, crushing it against the rubble. He snarled and tried to fight it off; found the full weight of Paul Heyman smiling down at him. In those eyes he saw all the greed in the world; he saw the pride that came before the fall; and the as the lights glared down, the shadow of Lesnar fell over him, steel pipe in hand, tapped into the palm of the other.

'Do it Brock! End him! Put him down like the dog he is! Do it!' Paul pointed viciously down at the prone Roman. He could feel the wetness of the blood on the back of his skull; unaware he'd even hit his head. How could he still see? How was he even awake? The adrenaline was burning out, the pain becoming too much to take...it would have been so easy to close his eyes, to sleep. He let his head fall back against the rubble as the pipe was raised. His lids closed; waited for the inevitable.

'_Wanna know why I call you Superman Rome?' _

_Sure why not?_

'_Because you were always the one that they were scared of, they knew who you were, what you were capable of. Your family's caused them problems for years right? Did you never stop and think the reason they recruited you in with monsters like us was so they could tame you? That's what they did. They were smart see; I saw it. I knew it and I didn't stop it because I needed you and couldn't help being a selfish bastard. He made us your Kryptonite. We became your weakness because we're brothers. We all wanted to be part of something so badly we didn't realize what they were doing...they say I'm insane. Do you think I'm crazy Rome? Because damned if I know. Because what I know is, that I know that I'd do anything for you guys. Take all the bullets whilst you got the fuck out of dodge if that's what it took. I'm not a hero Rome; I'm selfish, I'd only do it so you guys were safe because that's what __**I want**_**. **_But you?_

_You'd do it for any goddamn person who smiled at you; who gave you a hint of a reason. You're a hero Rome; you're fucking Superman. And you know what? They should be scared.'_

Maybe he could reverse the world, maybe he could punch through walls – no. But his free hand moved faster than his sluggish body could register, gripped the trouser of the leg that pinned him. Pulled. The fat body fell over him as that pipe came down. The cold crack of steel on skull rang out like a bell toll.

_Yes! Yes! Yes!_

He couldn't breathe, used the last of his strength to somehow heave the walrus off him. He thought he heard the pipe hit the floor. He wiped blood from his face; saw the stunned faces of all. His shaking legs barely brought him to his feet, his bare chest and back were hacked and battered. But they didn't stare at him. All eyes were on Lesnar. Roman turned his head with difficulty. The _Beast_ was on his knees, the unmoving body of his manager lay before him. His eyes wide open, mouth open for one last pitch; but no sound, no breath. He could see it, the red stained grey.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

'I -,'

But before another word could escape, he found hands on his shoulders, they turned him and Cesaro stared intently at him.

'Go. Get out of this place. Get out and never fucking come back. I will kill you myself for this, if we cross paths again Reigns.' His knuckles cracked with restraint, the threat knife sharp in his eyes. He released him, and went to Lesnar's side. The _Beast's_ eyes were empty. The crowd were silent. But Roman felt their gaze. It burned into his skin harsher than any voltage. The hate they'd once had for him, intensified. Not a word was said, it was all in their eyes. The devil stood in their ring, he'd taken one of their own, stolen the silver tongue from them. Heyman's stare was accusing. Roman moved back uneasily.

'Take him down!'

He heard the order before he saw that the Game was out of his chair. Roman turned, lactic acid burned but he had no choice. The tunnel he'd come down before was dark, dank, but his only way out. The arena lights burned his back as he fled into the darkness.

'This way Roman!'

He didn't have time to question, followed that high voice.

'Hurry! Hurry! Faster! This way! This way! Come on!'

The direction confused him; the shadows all felt the same. This wasn't how he'd come; a new route unknown to him. He was out of luck and the only luxury he had left was trust. But even as he ran, the guilt hung over him, noose just out of reach of his raw throat. That lifeless body; the deadman's eyes. He'd seen that look once before. He had stared out at him before it had burned and found itself stuffed into an urn.

Lesnar had brought down the weapon, but Roman had been the intended target...it was an accident. But it didn't matter. Not to them.

'Run Roman, run!'

He could hear the sound of hysterics chasing him and leading him. His heavy breath and lead feet slowed him down. They were getting closer, closer, he had to hide. No light to guide him, no candle for his sins. He pushed himself back, back, into the blackness, found a cold stone wall to ease the ache of his back. They'd find him. It was all over.

Here they came.

Hands. They were all over him, on his skin, over his mouth, dragged him struggling back, further into the darkness, down, down, as if he were falling through some void. But the feet moved by, the shouts disappeared as quickly as they passed. Roman's hot breath was loud through his nose, he tried to buck free, but was held down fast. Suddenly, light sparked all around, a dozen or more torches held high, all beamed down on him. A familiar hand reached down and heaved him up, and the childlike eyes of Mick Foley stared up at him...was that adoration, or fear?

'You made it! You fool...what you did...they will have you...could have ruined everything, but you lived...I'll dismantle the casket.'

'Mick I need to get to Dean...what's going on?'

'Welcome to the Halls of Fame Roman Reigns.'

'The Halls of...what? Who's that?'

A voice he knew. His eyes were narrow as someone came forward out of the blinding light with arms crossed. He wasn't tall, but built strong, with hard eyes and a tangle of hair almost as wild as Foley's.

'You don't remember me Reigns?'

Oh he remembered; every single battle to take him down. How he'd popped out of the woodwork, how the Game had ordered him to be eradicated like vermin. He remembered taking him down, taking him out, watching from afar as another failed hero was buried in the graveyard. It seemed he'd dug himself deeper than death.

'Daniel Bryan.'


	25. What Matters To Me

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM, KENNEDY**

The clock on that wall spoke to him; its arms stretched out like some bastard had stapled the poor soul in place through the heart. Time: it had always puzzled him. Who controlled it? They all ran by what the needles said, what label was stuck on the pill pot. The slop of today's shit feast as it slapped the plastic trays, cleaned after every 'meal' and re-used, each patient with their very own. Did anyone ever look at the time? Did they care? Was their time the swallow and spit, was their time the piss brought on by the special juice, was it when they gathered in their circles to talk about yesterday's news and years old feelings which happened twenty four hours before? He sat, and he stared at that clock, his eyes hooded, head tilted up a little, mouth open. Saliva ran from the corner of his lips and he was their statue – a monument to madness. Every second that passed he saw as the third hand twitched to the right.

That was what a second felt like – nothing at all. But they counted up, and it widened his eyes and panicked him how quickly they shot past. Seconds became minutes and within minutes they became hours. His head cocked to one side, observed the infinity long movement of the minute hand. It never stopped; it was only when you watched you saw that. Like the crack in the wall, it was something he'd never seen before. He'd watched time pass a thousand times, but never like this. This time passed even when nothing at all happened. Even as he sat with a vacant stare. The sound – that tick - it was a hammer on slate. It was so loud it made him flinch.

'Penny for your thoughts?'

'I don't know if I'll have any later on.'

She knelt down beside him, and took his hand, she placed it in her lap, and held it delicately with her fingers, studied it with intensity that felt like it was burning him.

'Searching for my future?'

'Remembering what you feel like,' she admitted. AJ bit her lip and looked up to him, one of those hands drifted to his face, moved his crazy hair from those crazy eyes. 'Remembering what you look like.' She leaned in gently, her face to the crook of his neck, nose barely an inch from his skin; her gentle exhalations made hairs stand on end. 'What you smell like,' she moved a finger to his split upper lip and traced it slowly. 'What you sound like, and...' she caught herself, and he found their gazes locked.

'And?'

'What you -,' she leaned in, her eyes dropped to a close; he could damn near hear her heartbeat. It hammered louder than the clock, ticking their precious seconds away. She knew him so well, why take the trouble, the _time_ to memorize him? Her touch bruised, and as she came closer, he was static. Her lips, they looked like someone had blistered them with heat – she'd always been soft before. So soft, he could remember watching her talk, studying those lips. 'What you taste like...'

She was inches away; he could feel her breath on his face, the anticipation as her mouth moved closer, closer to his.

'What happened to you AJ?'

She stopped, 'What?'

'When Regal took you away...when I left, what happened to you?'

'What does it matter? It happened...we're here now Dean. The past is past, the present is _now_. This future you have...it's coming closer and closer and we can't stop it and you want to talk about the _past_?' her long hair flowed over her shoulders, the very passage of time itself, moving further and further away from the point of origin, the very beginning, and drifting, lonely and long through existence, no real purpose, other than to move, to grow, to continue.

'It's what matters to _me_ AJ,' Dean's hand reached out, the rough bud of his index finger against her lower lip, pressed hard, watched how she recoiled back. 'What did he do?'

She sat on her feet, fingers laced in her lap, stared emptily at the wall before her; saw straight through the other bodies. There was no one else in that room apart from her, the white all around a canvas for the memories, the horrors he saw reflected in her eyes.

'He came to find me in my room. Told me something was happening, that people were breaking into St. Jude's, that the orderlies were rounding everyone up. He told me I had to go with him, and that we were in lockdown. I wanted to find you, told him so...but he refused to let me look. I tried to fight him...but the needles found me. I saw lights Dean...they were so pretty above me, but then I saw him too. He _laughed _at me Dean...'

'I don't...'

He stopped. Yes, he did. He saw it all in her face, the way she couldn't look at him, the hand which drifted to her stomach, as if something had been cut out of her long before. A piece of her that was missing.

'AJ...' he pulled her in, a gasp of breath escaped him, he held her close, her head on his shoulder, the world between them forced to compress as their two hearts collided. That was it, the story of the evil which lurked in the halls of St. Jude's. There were no ghosts; there was no madness except in what was inflicted. He knew the devil; he'd tasted his flesh. If he let her go now, she would forever be in the clutches of lunacy, of the nails which tore her skin, the hands which stroked her flesh and her hair. That called her _one of my very favourites_. 'I'll kill him. I'll kill him.'

She shook her head as he rocked her. 'It's the past Dean,' her voice was hollow, 'don't take it personally...it wasn't the first time.'

He became still as stone, as marble, as the entire void that was space. There was no explosion, there was no astronomical bang, nothing but the cold hard truth as it slipped from her tongue and into his ear. The sickening realization was the earth in his gut; he'd never noticed before. He'd never stopped and looked at her, really looked through those brown orbs and seen the agony which hid there, the screaming young woman, violated and damaged. He'd been too selfish to ever see, because he'd wanted all her love for himself, and never thought to give anything back but his loyalty.

'Dean, it's not your fault.' She had him by the shoulders, looked him dead in the eye. 'You have to believe me. None of this is your fault. You understand?' she shook him hard. 'It's not your fault, you've never done anything to hurt me, you've never done anything wrong.'

He couldn't summon words.

'You made it easier, just by being there. You were my distraction, my project, Dean if it weren't for you I would be dead. I'd have let him beat me. I'd have found my way into that special cupboard; I'd have swallowed every single needle, crushed and sniffed every drug. But you reminded me that I had something to be thankful; your friendship, your trust, your goddamn beautiful face, Dean I never forgot you, not a single hair or scar. You stayed with me even when you were gone, and every time it happened, when he crept into my head, you were there too, fighting him off. You're my happiest memory. The brightest spark. To me, Dean, you are colour.'

Salty water rolled down his face, her cheek. Bewilderment settled in his eyes, he couldn't understand, couldn't take it in, and couldn't comprehend. She'd never said so much. But every word had been with so much, like she'd taken her soul and crushed it between her two hands, used the dust to forge every letter.

Seconds, precious seconds were wasted. He couldn't use them to tell her anything, words were caught in his unsuspecting throat that was so dry he thought he might choke. Her admission, her truth, it drove through minutes and ploughed through the drum of that clock. He could feel her against him, her hands as they twisted and gripped the shoulder fabric of his scrubs. Her fear, her loathing, her love, her madness, her brilliant and beautiful insanity, all manufactured by those walls, by the devil in the details.

'Say something,' she whispered, 'please for the love of God say something.'

But there were no words. Nothing he could say could express the turmoil, the bittersweet snap of his heart and mind. He didn't have rational thought, he had emotion. He had a thousand armies behind every sneer and every raised fist; he had a terrified child behind his fear. He had a woman in his arms for the curious and crushing feeling that hurt his heart. She was against him, he held her so tight he didn't want to let go, and when he knew it wasn't enough just to hold her, he pulled away. He saw her.

After all the time they'd shared, and all those precious seconds which had slipped through his rough hands and damaged fingers, all the minutes that had been wasted on shit that didn't matter, and the hours spent fighting battles he thought were worth it, he finally saw her.

'You're red.' He whispered. That was what he saw. He saw scarlet heat and hateful blood, he saw loving crimson and burning spirit. 'You're red and you're war.'

Her lips were battle forged, and their touch was like the full bellied cry of victory. He tasted her tears, felt every piece of old and new skin of her mouth. There was nothing gentle about the truth. Her breath was stale. Her kiss hurt him, but pain was nothing. War; that was life, that was reality beyond the walls where you could see stars in the sky, and you paid for every second you walked the asphalt. You picked your wars, and he'd been through so many for stupid, forgettable reasons, but he memorized her as the door opened, as the men in white poured in, as rough hands gripped him and pulled him back, as she screamed and bucked and kicked and called his name. He found his face pressed against the carpet as the fibres clawed his skin and stitches. They forced on the restraints, held up that shining needle to the light. But a face interrupted those false stars, a sneering, laughing face.

'It's time Mr Ambrose. And I'm so very, very looking forward to this.'

He saw her as the needle went in. He saw her fight. He saw her blistered lips. She was red. She was war. She was red. She was war. She...was red. She was war.

She was red.

She was war.

She was red.

He...they...she...this...this was war.


	26. Let It Be

**((Dun dun dun! It's all go at the moment with the boys, and I hope everyone is keeping track well, and enjoying every single minute! Back to Seth and Renee now for the first time in ages, oh and Lillian. Can't forget the kitty! In this chapter we'll meet some brand new characters, so please enjoy everyone!))**

**ADAMS**

If not for the insistent purring which vibrated next to her head, soft paws padding in her hair and the general nuisance that was a hungry kitty, she might not have woken for several more hours. As it was, when her eyes slithered open, her body stretched and a vast yawn escaped her mouth, daylight streamed through the windows, the storm of the previous night forgotten. Save for the rain stains on the glass, there could have been no indication at all of the tempest. She sat back in her chair, hand to her head where it had been plastered against the wood of the kitchen table for the past nine hours. Nine hours? Really? Well that's what her watch said...better double check. She picked her phone from the table and flicked it to life. There it was, plain as the nose on her face. Two in the afternoon; how had she slept for so long? And so uncomfortably? Why was she even at the table in the first place? She opened and closed her mouth a few times to wet it, and trudged to the kettle. She didn't notice the gloves laid out to its right.

Maybe she should learn to actually go to bed when she was tired...honestly the shifts she was doing she could genuinely fall asleep anywhere these days. The stress of it all was giving her very peculiar dreams. They'd almost felt real. But that couldn't be right, her life wasn't nearly as exciting as what she'd dreamed of; of monsters and men and frying pans and warehouses. Maybe she should have written it all down so she didn't forget a single detail – you could make a decent living out of books these days, and hadn't she wanted to be a journalist all these years? Finally, the kettle boiled. There was a thunk as she pulled an old red and white polka dotted mug from the cupboard and slapped it onto the work surface. She didn't measure out the coffee with a spoon, instead, still half asleep, she shook what looked like enough into the mug. Pour water – yawn. Absently she stirred it, not even concentrating. If she had, she would have noticed that she was being watched.

With both hands wrapped around the mug, she collapsed back into the chair, cup onto the table. All over it were scraps of paper which looked like they'd been assaulted by a lunatic with a BIC biro. She sifted through them, barely seeing, barely registering until she picked up one in particular. Her forehead fell into a tired frown, tried to remember where she'd seen that handsome face before – hm, nothing came to mind. She put it down again. Bed. Maybe she'd just go to bed now, sleep off the rest of the day until her shift that night. Yes...that was a plan she liked the sound of. Somehow managing to grip the mug once again, she stood, accidentally knocked that drawing of a face she thought she knew, to the floor, and lumbered out of the kitchen. The door was shut to her bedroom, which was odd in itself because she never closed the door. Lillian pawed at it, clearly not as hungry as she'd been five minutes prior.

'Wanna have a nap with mama baby, hmm?' Renee muttered sleepily, only just managing to stoop and stroke the cats back without losing the entire contents of the mug. She pushed down the handle, and paused.

How strange. She turned around with a frown. She'd just had the most peculiar feeling...almost as if...as if someone had been standing behind her. But of course there was no one there, she was just being silly, not over that dream of hers was all. It had been rather terrifying in places. With a shove, the door opened and she and the cat slipped inside. The covers of her bed were bunched up on one side, clearly from where she'd thrown them aside yesterday. She popped the mug on the bedside table. Clumsily, she started to heave her clothes off. It took far too long and she was getting frustrated by the time she managed to strip. Naked, she quickly hopped into the bed and tugged the covers over her. She nestled her head into the pillow, eyes closed, grateful to whoever invented mattresses.

The covers tugged.

Not really thinking, she tugged back, harder. Her covers. Hers.

'Give a guy a break.'

Her eyes shot open. That voice. It triggered two responses. The very first was the sudden remembrance of the man in the drawing, of long hair and dripping rain, of carnage in _Mama's_, of his smile, of driving through a storm, of fighting a big red monster. The remembrance of dragging a broken and ill man into her home, and of tucking him into her bed. The second was complete and utter embarrassment.

Her mouth was open wide as she felt something shift behind her. It curled against her back, a hand thrown protectively over her. She froze, tried to find some words but nothing came to mind. What did she do? How did she get out of this? Perhaps another time it would have been something she would have welcomed. But she was naked! There was no where this would go beyond mortifying.

'Seth?'

'Mhmm.'

'I don't want to alarm you.'

'Mhmm?'

'But I'm naked.'

He didn't move for a moment, as if trying to process her words directly to his half asleep brain. It was almost as if he hadn't heard her, because after a full minute, he hadn't so much as twitched, let alone made to let her go. If anything he seemed to move a little closer; but there was nothing sexual about how he moulded around her – it was almost as if he were using her as a hot water bottle, trying to steal what heat she had for himself.

'Seth.'

'Yes Renee?' his mouth was half hidden by pillow and it was hard to hear him, but he didn't seem to care.

'This is very awkward for me right now.'

'Ignore it. It'll go away.'

'I don't think it will, it seems to be enjoying my bed too much.'

She paused, brought her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly. The strangeness of the entire situation wasn't lost on her, but one presiding thought pushed itself to the very front of her brain.

'How are you today?'

'Slept good...could use a lot more.' He muttered, he almost sounded irritated with her for interrupting him. She would have kicked him, and even readied herself to swing her foot back, but then remembered the list of injuries from the night before.

'Do you hurt?'

'Ache, my hand...it's killing me.'

She looked up and over. Laying on top of the covers, and over her, was that broken hand. It looked almost worse in the daylight. But now, as she stared at those fingers, they looked to be fractured, as if they'd been popped out of socket as opposed to smashed. She was no nurse, and she wasn't about to call her Ma to come all the way down from Ajax. For one it was a long way and for two how would she explain all of this? She couldn't. Not without revealing the boys story in grisly detail.

'Maybe...I should get out of the bed.'

But to her complete surprise, he shook his head. 'I'm comfy.'

'But I'm naked.'

'Does it...bother you? Doesn't bother...me.'

She actually smiled a little at that, and as if to complete the bizarre arrangement, Lillian jumped up onto the bed, and curled herself up next to Renee. 'This is really strange.'

'Only if you let it be.'

'Don't you dare tell Roman about this Seth. I mean it.'

'Why not?'

'Because it's mortifying that's why. He'll think I'm some sexual predator something, preying on the wounded.'

He didn't answer that. Instead, he breathed in deeply, exhaled – his breath tickled the back of her neck. So this was what it was like to share her bed with a man. She'd almost forgotten. The last time had been...well she didn't want to think about that. More than five...more than six years; but was that her fault? She didn't think so; she'd just always had other things on her mind. She hadn't had sex since she was twenty two years old.

Oh dear God.

Some sexual predator she was. But it set her mind to thinking, of how good it felt to have his arm over her, how he was behind her, holding her gently, even with his injuries. It was like he actually cared, wanted her to be there. But as she closed her eyes once again, settled against him, a face flashed through her thoughts. A strong jaw, and long black hair, eyes like a summer storm; Renee couldn't forget him. Even then. It was like he'd burned himself onto her subconscious.

'Hey Seth?'

'Mhm?'

'I got a text from Roman last night.'

That got his attention. All of a sudden his demeanour shifted, his head came up from the pillow and he tried to sit up. The covers finally hers, she pulled them up to cover her breasts as she turned to look at him properly.

'What...did it say?' you could tell he was still in a lot of pain, but the concern for his brother overtook his own welfare. 'Has he found Dean? Is he alright?'

'He said he had to fight in the underground for a chance to get to him.'

The innocence of her words perhaps saved him. If she'd known what she was talking about, perhaps he would have flown off the handle. But instead, he sunk back down into that bed, face sullen. His good hand went to his forehead and rubbed it gently.

'Out of the frying pan, into hell,' He glanced across at her, at how she sat, one arm out, hand on the pillow to keep her upright, the other hand holding the covers to save her modesty. She looked at him, perplexed, that golden hair of hers tumbling over one shoulder. 'Do you know of the underground arenas in Kennedy?'

She shook her head, and turned in her spot to grab her coffee, before returning her full attention to him.

'There's a fight organization, run by...a man named Antonio Cesaro. You might know him.'

'He's a regular at _Mama's_...that's the diner where I work – well, where I did. I doubt he'll go there anymore mind...I may have smashed his face with a tea pot last night.'

Seth smirked. 'Heh, would have paid money to see that...these fights...they're brutal. Done for money, Dean used to take part...he never...submitted once. People die in those fights Renee.'

Her eyes widened and she swallowed scolding hot coffee and didn't even notice the burn on her tongue.

'Roman! Do you think he's alright?'

'I don't know. Rome's...no push over. But he's never fought tactfully before; he's pure power, not discipline.'

Renee bit her lip. 'I...I should go find him.'

'No.' Seth shook his head. 'I need you here. Roman will...be alright. I know he will. He'll find Dean...we'll all be together again, soon.'

'How do you know?'

His eyes closed and his head fell deep into the pillow, the conversation clearly exhausting him.

'I don't, but I believe in them.' with a long breath, it became clear very quickly, that he'd expended everything he had, and had drifted off to try and recharge once again. The curtains were drawn, blocked out the daylight. But they were an inch too short. If Renee had turned toward them, she might have noticed the set of eyes which stared from the gap as she got out of the bed. She dressed fresh and scooped Lillian up from the bed.

She didn't hear as the window snapped open.

The sound of afternoon cereal clinking into a bowl hid the noise as someone came into her house. Milk poured – spoon – munch. She leaned against the kitchen top as she ate, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw those gloves once again. Those _dirty deeds_. For some curious reason, she felt uneasy. The same uncertainty which had made her turn around earlier, found her place the bowl on the side, and pick up those weighted gloves. They felt even heavier now. She stared at them in her hands, then, for no other reason than what clenched her gut, she pulled them on, strapped them into place. They almost felt familiar now.

There was a cracking of china. The slam of something against a wall. The bedroom. She didn't think twice, and darted toward the door. Her heart was in her mouth. The bedroom door was closed again, but she didn't hesitate, bashed her way through. There. Two of them – thin as tree branches, their eyes were wide, their lips painted red. Identical, they hovered over the bed, duct tape in hand. Seth – he was somehow still there, wrists bound in front of him, tape across his mouth, but clearly pissed off rather than afraid.

'Oh Seth, you found yourself a pet! How sweet.' The nearest was slightly more muscular than her sister, but she had venom in her eyes that made Renee feel uneasy. She stood straight, bit the inside of her mouth and handed the other her roll. 'I'll deal with this. Prepare our package for travel Brie, what a pretty present he'll be for the boss.'

'You're not taking him anywhere!' Renee spat. She moved into the room, dashed forward, made to swing at the woman, but she moved. Fast. It seemed almost superhuman, and Renee found herself colliding with the window sill, but she managed to turn, tried to get her breath back. The woman stood opposite her, a cruel sickle smile on her mouth. She raised her hand and gestured with two figures toward her.

'Come on princess, fight me.'

Renee wasn't a warrior. She had dumb luck and clumsy feet. She staggered forward and swung once again, narrowly missing as the woman sidestepped the blow. She could hear the unwrap of tape, saw Seth struggle against the remaining twin. His eyes found hers, and she knew that if she didn't stop them, Seth would be out of her hands, and into those of the Game. She regained her footing, turned and threw both fists forward. One just caught the dodging woman's arm, who hissed irritably, her hand rubbed the wound.

'Oh princess, you shouldn't have done that.'

'Guess you'll have to forgive this too then.' Renee kicked out, barely catching the other woman's ankle, it was enough to throw her slightly, and her right hand snaked out. It caught the stomach of her opponent who doubled up a little, stepped back in shock.

'Ha! Ha ha!' Renee near shouted in victory, arms raised. Something smacked the back of her leg, forced her down to one knee. There was the sound of something razor sharp, and Renee found her hair pulled back, throat exposed, something silver at her throat.

'One more move sweetie and your lovely throat will be ruined. Don't tempt me. You alright Nikki?'

'Just peachy. I say we slit her throat now. No point keeping a pointless plain thing like her alive. It'd be kinder to put her out of her misery.' Nikki sauntered forward, a finger under Renee's chin and raised it, she inspected every single inch of the face in front of her. 'Why would someone like _you_ interfere with our business hm? Don't you know it could get you killed? Mr Rollins here is ours, just like his handsome friend and the crazy one. We'll be rewarded well for bringing in Sethie here. Oh yes. He's the last piece of the puzzle. After tonight, he'll be the only one left.'

Renee's eyes narrowed. 'What are you talking about?'

'Roman's being hunted as we speak,' Brie giggled into her ear. 'And Dean? All prepped for the operating table, they're going to take his brain. And there's nothing any of you can do to stop it. There's not one man alive who can save the Shield now.'


	27. Beyond The Shield

**THE HALLS OF FAME, KENNEDY**

'I remember sticking you in a six foot hole in the rain.'

'Just as well; if it had been warm I might have stayed sleeping.' He had aged, perhaps the effect of being thrown into an early grave. His hair was long, beard matted, his eyes distant. But there was something else, a gritty determination that had been missing before. Their last encounter had been bloody, but three against one had proven good odds for the Hounds. The upstart had drawn the Game's attention through his insistent, though hazardous friendship with Kane, from there, he'd broken away and started to gain popularity with the other city wasters. To begin with it hadn't been his antics with the big red monster – then, he'd been within control, it was his audacity to split from the Authority's influence. He now more resembled goat than human being, as if someone had dug up eight graves and made up one body. 'You didn't stop to check I was dead.'

'Shouldn't have had to. We broke your neck.' Roman prided himself on having the general ability to sound far calmer than he actually felt. Being confronted with a ghost from the past was one thing, what he was handling worse was the fact that they were having a civil conversation about it.

'You did. I got better.'

'So I see. This has been very interesting Bryan, but you're wasting my time. Dean needs me, and I'm not about to give you anymore of the seconds that he doesn't have.' Roman made to shove past the smaller man, but found a palm flat against his chest, there was a lot of power behind it, and halted him.

'I won't keep you long; and I think you'll find what I have to say very interesting indeed.'

'I doubt it.'

'There's a woman.'

'There always is.'

'Blond, petite, Canadian, smile like the sun through the clouds.'

Roman's eyes instinctively narrowed, he didn't like Bryan's tone...and knew he was talking about Renee. She'd not been at the forefront of his mind during the fight, but now he found himself wondering about her safety – had she found Seth? Were they both alive? He'd left her in the worst of circumstances. The poor woman had been pulled headlong into this mess, and he couldn't imagine how she was coping. But he'd seen it in those diamond eyes of hers; she was strong, so very strong, and her memory alone caused his mouth to tense into an uncertain, but very small, smile.

'She's caring for your friend.'

'Don't be angry Roman,' Mick suddenly cut in, a hand on his arm, eyes wide up at Roman, asking forgiveness without words. 'I found this,' from the pocket of his off white scrubs he pulled out a piece of paper, such as you'd find in waitresses' notebook, 'it fell out of your pocket when you were in the changing bunker.'

'We thought it would be important, so we sent a pair of eyes ahead of your fight to look into it.' Bryan explained. His arms were folded, and the coat he wore seemed too big for him, the hood alone looked like it could encapsulate his entire head. It was almost strange – there appeared to be little, to no malice in his voice; as if he'd forgiven what they'd done to him. 'From what's been reported back to us, Mr Rollins is not in the best of shape; Mick has volunteered to head to their location to help care for him. He's the closest to a doctor we have and none of us are dead yet.'

Roman couldn't help but nod, but he knew by agreeing he was placing everything in the hands of the man in front of him. A quick glance about found other faces in the lamplight, faces he thought they'd put down. A couple of them bobbed their heads to him in recognition, some refused to even look him in the eye, and one, who lurked near the back of the group, was turned away completely, eyes in the opposite direction – a scout perhaps. But there was something in how he would turn his head slightly, to glance at him out of the corner of his eye, before returning to the black, which caught Roman's attention. He didn't like that look.

'I need to get to St. Jude's – fast. Dean doesn't have much time.'

'He has more than you may think. We've been watching you Roman Reigns, your brothers too. Dean is not alone in that bedlam. I have men already in position. We have minutes to get there before we go in. There will be one chance, and one chance alone to save your friend Reigns. No fuck ups. I won't risk my people anymore than is necessary.'

'And our lives are necessary are they?'

'For now. Yes.'

'That word – I heard it through the ground. Over, and over.'

'People have forgotten the power of words, Reigns. They're so keen to stay out of the way and to stay out of calamity that they're willing to agree with everything they're told, to do what is said by the Authority. They're so used to _no_. No freedom. No chance. Imagine, if everyone in this God forsaken city started to say _yes_. Think what could be achieved if everyone was united.'

'You're in a dream world Bryan. I just want Dean, then we'll be gone.'

'See, that's always been your problem. You've never been able to see the bigger picture; foresight as long as your nose and that's it. You can't see beyond the Shield.'

'And that's as far as I need to. Are you helping me get to Dean, or am I busting jaws to get you out of my way?' his teeth gritted, knuckles cracked. He was beat down and beat up but he wasn't out of the game just yet. He'd managed to progress through the insanity by himself, and he'd carry on that way if he had to. He eyed Daniel Bryan wearily. He talked a pretty picture, but revolutions and dreams died in Kennedy. Any shot in the dark was blocked, any light dimmed. The Authority may not have had their Hounds anymore, but the damage had long been done. There were still enough loyal to the suited bastards to cause fear and misery.

For a second, Bryan looked at him hard in that torchlight. His hand rubbed his thick beard, his tired eyes were pitted shadows. There was no love lost between them. But there seemed to be a plan in the old goat's head. Roman could almost hear the cogs slowly turning and his irritation levels climbed higher and higher.

'We'll lead the way. Mick, head to Adams. I have a feeling our mutual friend will be glad of the assistance. Watching pretty women from a distance has never been his forte. In fact...you'll probably be helping her

Roman didn't even see him turn, and he was gone. Footsteps scattered in all directions – eyes not impeded by the dark. His own feet pounded against the concrete. Breath was heavy, ribs ached. It seemed like minutes of chasing shadows when he came to a halt, hand wrapped around his stomach, hand on his knees. Each breath was like someone was throwing their whole weight against his lungs. In the blinding dark, it felt as if he were drowning. He couldn't keep up.

'I remember you chasing me for hours through the streets above us once.'

To his surprise, there was Bryan, just close enough to be seen.

'What happened to you Reigns?'

'You not see what happened back there?'

'Not that. You seem so _scared_. You were always so unafraid; you and your boys were fearless, but now all I see is a little kid, terrified of everything and everyone.'

He didn't have the strength to fight him. The words cut through harsher than Renee's slap. Any response stuck to his tongue. Humans were sick. Humans were born afraid. But Bryan didn't understand that when you relied so much on other people to keep you safe, to keep you strong they became your religion. He needed them to blunt his sins, he needed them to be his church – that place he felt safest. He needed their hands and their words for reassurance. They were his absolution – more than family. Without his brothers, Roman Reigns was nothing. He forced himself up from his doubled over position. He finally looked straight into the dulled eyes of Daniel Bryan, the dead man walking. He'd met a few of them. He wasn't afraid of zombies.

'Just take me to Dean.'

Clearly unsatisfied with the answer, Bryan pitched off into the darkness once again. This time Roman managed to hit a stride, his breath came heavy. Every dark hall seemed the same, the brick patterns chiselled away by a lifetime and hardened hands, teeth, claws. This was where the dead came, this was the underworld. Dean would have loved these hallowed corridors, would have found his way like a rat in the sewers. The cold rolled off his bruised torso, licked at his wounds. He was not beaten by the _Beast_. He wouldn't be beaten by himself and his own weakness.

There was a fire inside of his heart and the lactic acid was burning, but the _fear_, oh God that _fear_. It tasted worse than any blood of bile, and it was what fuelled him. It drove him forward, heading toward that cliff edge, ready to throw himself off and through the abyss. Bryan was right. He was scared. Dean was falling further and further away and he was fucking terrified he wouldn't get to him in time, that those precious seconds were falling through the gaps between his fingers no matter how hard he clenched them. His hair was caught by that cold, and it pinked his face and bit his skin.

He near slammed straight into the still form of Daniel Bryan as he fell back into view; Roman dug his feet into the ground and slid to an abrupt halt. Bryan held a finger to his lips, his other hand hovered over an old rusted handle – the door to the boiler room. All around he could hear shouting, hurried footsteps. The other members of Bryan's party were still being chased by the Game's men. It was luck alone that had left them undiscovered. Slowly, Bryan caught a hold of the handle and pulled it down, tugged. It didn't come away. Again he tried, but nothing. Roman shoved him aside, took the handle and heaved. With a dull thud it jerked open. Quickly, they slipped inside, but before the door could close, someone else forced their way inside. His hood was pulled low, but Roman _knew_ it was the one from earlier, who'd lurked at the back of the huddle. He made to speak to him, but Bryan shook his head urgently. Silently they moved through the boiler room, through cobwebs and dust covered walls. It was thick and warm.

'Here.'

Steps, barely tread save for a light set of footsteps which had hurried down – Mick. The lights were old and flickered, Bryan walked up quietly, and paused a few steps from the top. His eyes were down, glued to a watch at his wrist. Roman stood uneasy behind him, wondering just what they were waiting for. At the bottom stood that lone figure, who watched from the shadows of that hood.

'Five...four...three...two...one.'


	28. Together

**((Thank you everyone for your continued support, we're finally getting closer and closer to a Shield reunion. I'm grateful to everyone for sticking with the story, and for letting me know what they think! Please continue to review, your comments are such a boost!))**

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM, KENNEDY**

Who knew that the world could swim? It seemed too; that sickening haze which bobbed and ducked in front of him. It felt as if his eyes had been replaced with candle wax, slowly melting, stretching and compressing everything. Things always seemed brighter when they gave him that most special of candy – that precious ketamine. What would they do without such a rich dose? Would they have dragged him kicking and screaming and biting and laughing toward that operating room? What did they do with people...when there was no candy to give? How did you calm that tantrum throwing child without bribery? Forced bribery – Dean never could recall him begging them to force that thick needle through his skin, to make his senses swim.

So this was how Dean Ambrose ended. It seemed such a sweet symphony – no, bittersweet, like the pretty edge of a knife carving into young skin. He should have known that he'd find himself on one of their beds long enough, strapped in so that you couldn't escape the fun ride home. He swung his head from side to side, movements drunk as a snake. He could taste their intent. The way they held him up, hands under his armpits, not caring for where he looked or for what he said. There was no comfort for Dean Ambrose on the way to nowhere. He'd been a bad boy. Bad boys were punished.

There was a strange ritual about it all. The other inmates were held against the walls; all of them out of their rooms, stood like ghosts all morbid and the like as they watched one of their fellows head to the brain room. Others had gone before, and others would follow. He wondered if anyone here would remember him.

Would his brothers know?

That was the question. He'd almost forgotten their existence the short time he'd been locked in the box. The walls melted the outside world to merely a dream. He could see the faces of Seth, of Roman on every prone body he was dragged past. They stared at him with every expression – some laughed, some cried, others seemed angry, heartbroken, caught in the throes of despair. He knew those faces – he'd worn them himself. He could remember each and every one as they left him alone. He'd picked bullets from his skin with a rusty fork, found so called 'surgeons' to lend him duct tape until he infected or healed over.

Was that what he was? An infection – he was a virus. He spread himself through the veins of the corrupt and the cruel. There was evil printed in every brick of the building and in every atom of the men who ran it. Would Regal come along and play surgeon? Cut him open with a hacksaw? Stamp needles through his tear ducts? Perhaps he'd become some mad experiment. What a monster! What a monster! What monsters slept here? He could be a monster if he wanted – but he wasn't a creation of any man – oh no, oh no – he would be a nightmare of his own choosing, a demon in the dark who played with will and whimsy. Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes.

What a curious noise.

He liked it. The sound of some great war cannon, debris falling, people screaming. Visions of dust and blood darted by and he felt himself stop, the orderlies holding him confused and dazed. His vision was tuckered and his heart not much better, these were such amazing scenes. Perhaps they were his last dreams – he could wander on through and imagine all this death and all this insanity.

_Oh insanity_ – it had found him at last.

Dean liked the sight of it and how it tasted – it tasted like gasoline, like explosions and lit matches. The panic – it was static in his ears but he remembered it well. The screams and the injured – it felt like he'd fallen back through history and landed in the pits once again. Smoke, thick clouds of dust ran the corridors. The orderlies who held him finally decided to move. They pulled him on, past the crying wounded.

Another cannon blast; it shot from the door to his left. It launched straight off its hinges, shattered in thin air – a slowed down ballet, just for his wild eyes – speared into anyone who had the misfortune to stand in its way. His left side hit the floor, and finally truly abandoned – he was left alone, pieces of wall crumbling all around him. He could feel his face against the linoleum. Was his brain still there? Were his fingers still working? Enough time, enough effort, just a few precious seconds – he'd been given them back then and there. Each thick heartbeat was another one past. He felt freedom as the cuffs fell apart. Feet, bodies, frantic, afraid, they dashed past, away from the blasts which blew out walls, doors, glass. He felt like a painting, colours blurred as he somehow found himself on his feet. Unsteady. So very unsteady, he held his hands out, balance – balance in this dream.

Everything was so slow. The drugs gave him _Matrix_ vision. He started to walk, through the rubble, past the fallen. He knew these walls in their disrepair.

There – a patch of darkness up ahead. He stood clothed and face hidden, hood low, something cylindrical, wired in his hand. He didn't see Dean – why would he? He was moving through time and space – some alien in familiar landscape – maybe they'd already taken his brain; now he was just floating through reality. Dean moved closer, closer, bare footed, not feeling pain as shrapnel and pieces of glass cut his feet. Just feet away, close enough to touch, he stopped stared at the man.

Bomb in hand.

'What are you supposed to be?' Dean's voice sounded alien – slow, like the world. He reached out a hand to throw that hood back, but the stranger moved, threw the devise through an open door. Dean only heard the explosion; the force hit him later. When he found himself falling through the air, to land half choked among the carnage, eyes wide up to that white sky that ruined itself with smoke; so this was his mind. This was what insane men dreamed.

It wasn't so bad.

'Dean?'

Yes; he was Dean. Dean Ambrose – a name he'd been given from birth by a woman who cared so much that she drowned herself.

'Dean?'

Dean Ambrose – a wild street rat, untamed and mistreated, tagged and leashed and thrown into a box. Found by a little girl, tempered and sweetened by her trust. He became a man in her hands.

'Dean!'

Dean Ambrose – friend, brother, loyal protector. A vicious fighter, bloodthirsty, cruel in kindness and necessary in violence; he was the ruthless dog that licked the loving hand and bit those who tried to hold him back.

Lost in the blank space; he'd almost forgotten it all.

'Dean, Dean!'

He thought he heard a voice. It seemed familiar – perhaps he'd died on that operating table, and wandered into purgatory. Was he now a witness to the idiocy and fuck it all of everyone else? He swore he knew that voice. It belonged to someone he used to know. A handsome fucker with a mug that made the women swoon, with dark eyes that calmed him without a word being said; a heart so full that it ran him through, arms to crush or to control – yes he remembered that voice.

The ceiling was getting fucking dirty now.

Hands clutched the sides of his head, God his fucking head, and a face came into view through the haze and the dust and the smoke. He knew that face. He knew the handsome fucker with a mug that made the women swoon – who'd give their right ovary to be that close.

'Dean.'

He'd not heard relief before. It was nice. Someone was pleased to see him. 'Dean you fucking asshole say something.'

'Boobs?'

Laughter – he knew that laugh. It was husky, pleasant, deep – sounded like someone who could tell excellent jokes at dinner parties. It sounded like the laugh which had sent many people to early eternal sleeps, back when evil was a hobby. He saw him clearly, hand up through the air to touch the rock solid jaw and the tired eyes.

'Brother?'

'Dean it's Roman, I found you. I found you and I'm getting you out of here.'

'What a fine idea, couldn't have come up with better.'

He felt himself leave the ground, his arm slung around strong shoulders. Eyes looked this way and that, saw the hooded stranger lurk close by, keep watch. Another – shorter, appeared to the left of the juggernaut who held him up; why did he look like a goat?

'Reigns we have to go – we have to go now!' said the goat.

'Blaaaa,' Dean bleated. Smug, he allowed himself to be walked a meter, then two. But he had to stop. Something was calling him. He could hear it among the ruins. It echoed throughout the halls, back through the smoke. He couldn't leave.

_I'm not leaving you here again. You saved me once. It's time for me to return the favour._

'AJ!'

'Dean come on we have to go!'

'AJ!' He pulled against the arms which held him back. He couldn't, he wouldn't leave her. He'd broken his promise once. He couldn't do it again. She'd done so much, she'd saved him. She'd been everything within the walls – now they were tumbling down. Now he had to lay it on the line.

Regal had handed him the gun. He had the power now in his two hands. He had to use it. He would let her see those stars. Strength, numb, stupid determined strength pulled him free. He staggered, ran as best as he could, balance shifting like the foundations of the sanitarium. This could have been a dream.

Was this his mind breaking as they forced their way in?

Whatever was happening, he wasn't going without her. If they took his consciousness; his last act would be to set her free.

'Dean!'

'We have to go Reigns!'

'I'm not leaving without him!'

Footsteps followed him, could have easily caught up as he clung to whatever he could for support, sweet ketamine still blocking his brain. His legs moved only from instinct, fingers led him blindly through a different landscape.

'AJ!' his arm up to his eyes to try and block the dust; it stuck to the back of his throat and made him cough, hack, bile rising. 'AJ!'

'Dean!'

Was that her? Was that him? Too many voices messing with his mind but he'd invited them all in. He'd brought every single vampire through his door and opened every tin of worms. He'd let all of this happen; this was the consequence of his actions. It was devastating, it was beautiful, but he couldn't handle it. There was too much beauty in this destroyed world. He caught rubble, nearly fell, but that reassuring hand was on his shoulder once again, hitched him back up.

'Dean -,'

'I can't leave her Rome, I can't fucking leave her. I promised I'd take her away. I promised we'd leave here together.' He couldn't keep it together. 'I have to find her.'

Roman, the big man, his brother held him upright, held his pieces together, hesitated, but nodded.

'We'll find her Dean, together.'

'Reigns!' the goat's threat echoed but didn't matter. Dean felt his heavy heart _drip drip drip_; so this was relief. It was a warm feeling, kinda fuzzy. Finally – after so fucking long, even in this madness, this very physical chaos and his own shattered Wonderland, Dean felt safe; in the arms of his brother.


	29. Close Enough To Cut

**ST. JUDE'S SANITARIUM, KENNEDY**

Dean led the way as best he could through the destruction; all the while he called her name, lost in the madness which gripped him. Roman had never seen such haunted determination in his brother's eyes. He was dogged, possessed – this woman, she'd gripped Dean's very soul in a way he'd never seen before. It was like he was addicted, sniffing through the ruins, turning over every stone just for a glimpse of her. Roman followed, willing after it all, to sacrifice every single minute that they had for Dean. He'd taken so much, been through it all just to see his brother once again –it almost hurt that as soon as they'd been reunited, Dean had turned away from him, in favour of someone else. Who could mean as much to them...as each other? But he knew this was Dean's personal eternity; that hell selected just for him.

If, this AJ existed, if she lived, he would carry her from the rubble himself. Because if she'd kept Dean safe, if she'd kept him as sane as she could for the time he'd been there, Roman owed her everything. Dean was unstable, he was unsure, anything that could solidify him, make him unbreakable was more precious than any shining metal.

'AJ!'

It was near impossible to navigate. The hooded man's bombs had blown near all the walls on the eastern side...and Roman dreaded to think of what might have slept beneath the rubble. He'd seen people screaming and streaked with blood, blinded by the dust. He'd seen unmoving bodies half buried. Was it worth it? This couldn't have all been for them...there was too much malice, too much wanton decimation. Bryan hadn't told him everything; had just seen a desperate man, had plucked him from the darkness and flung him into this sin splattered world. He knew, that Bryan would tell him he owed him. And he did – he knew without his help in the Halls, he would have been found. He wouldn't have gotten to Dean in time. Without Daniel Bryan, the Shield would have been doomed to fail.

Roman clambered over rubble which Dean darted over with surprising ease; whether it was the effects of the drugs in his system, or just pure adrenaline, he didn't know. But he could hear the fear growing in his brother's voice each and every time he called out her name. Roman stopped, stared around him as best he could. Breathing was becoming as difficult as seeing, and he raised a hand to smudge away the thick dust which blocked an unbroken door. A golden name plate winked back at him, told him this had been the office of someone important.

He thought he knew the name.

_Commissioner William Regal_

Well where was the good commissioner now? Had he run away from his bewildered flock the instance the bombs hit? Roman couldn't see anyone now in a fancy suit. The white walls were speckled with dust and rock and brick. The shattered splinters of the wall painted everywhere, and it was hard to believe that there had been so much earth squashed between those white painted surfaces. There was little white to see now.

Dean's off grey blended well with the dust smoke.

'AJ! Where are you? It's me! AJ!'

It was the voice of a man who'd lost everything. The sound of a widower at a grave, the sound of a soldier holding his dying brother. It was the sound of Roman's too old heart. Every time he thought he was close enough to fixing it all, to gathering all the pieces and bringing them safely back together, something happened, his efforts thwarted. Behind he could still hear Bryan shouting for him – warning him that the Authority would be there soon, that they had to leave whilst they still had time, whilst they still had a chance. But his heart was breaking at the child in Dean's voice. That terrified little boy that was never far from Dean's eyes.

'Dean...we need to go,' he could see his brother in the distance, still as stone; a piece of slate jutting from the ground. 'Before they come Dean. Dean?'

But it was as if he'd become a ghost, unheard. There was no reaction in Dean's body; no sign he'd heard him. Roman moved slowly closer, and when there was nothing between them, his hand fell on Dean's shoulder. But nothing; no recognition.

'Dean?'

Roman had only seen him, but now, as he looked where his brother looked, he saw. Eyes squinted through the slowly settling clouds, someone stood. They were different to everything else – blue. The only colour in the whole of the building wasn't alone. He could see it now. Two bodies; grey painted against that suit. Dean stared, Roman could feel the cold coming off him in waves. Fear had reached its ultimate possibility, and you could see the icy sweat that ran down Dean's bone white face. His eyes were wide, mouth open, and when Roman could see for sure, he felt his own body turn to stone.

There stood a man, he held a woman so very tight. Too tight.

'So it comes to this Dean!' the man shouted. His face was bloody; strips of skin peeled from his cheeks...pieces of flesh fell away with every word. But he laughed, repetitive, cruel to the ear, a sound which made Roman's bones shake. 'I wonder what will you do now? Will you run? Will you run run run away from me again? Will you Dean? I never wanted you to leave, what do I have to do to make you stay in my fun house Dean? What do I have to do to make you all stay?' there was something held against the woman's throat, something sharp; glass from one of the windows. 'I never did anything wrong Dean, I just did as I was told.' He sounded so earnest, so confused as to why his good behaviour had such consequences. 'You can't leave me Dean. What will I do? Who will I talk to? What games can I play on my own? NONE.' his voice echoed. The woman...AJ...tensed. Her arms were by her sides, long hair trailed down, tears dripped over her cheeks, but her eyes saw only Dean.

'AJ...it's ok, I'm here.' Dean implored, hands reached out to her, he made to take a step forward, but Regal tightened the glass. AJ gasped as it nicked her throat.

'No closer Dean! Don't come any closer! I won't lose all of you Dean! She's my very favourite Dean! You can't have her!' he held the girl closer, as if he were hugging her from behind, like a child would a doll. His nose buried itself in her hair. 'She's mine.' His voice almost seemed husky, eyes closed as he took in her scent. Roman felt physically sick. Dean tried to step again but the man's eyes shot open once again. He started to pull her backward. 'Stay away Dean!'

'Dean -,' she whimpered.

'AJ -,'

'I want you both. We can play together Dean...just the three of us. Like old times. We don't need this house. We can find somewhere new. We can all be together if you come along. We'll be one big happy family again.'

Another attempted step, the glass was held threateningly forward. 'Don't you dare move Dean!'

'AJ it's ok, we're going to get out of this,' Dean whispered. 'I'll get you away from here, like I promised.'

But AJ shook her head. The tears fell a thousand feet.

'Go Dean,'

'No.'

'Please, don't worry about me. Just go.'

'I'm not leaving you!'

'Go Dean. Please Dean. Leave me here Dean, shut up!' Regal roared in her ear, brought the glass back. 'Keep quiet AJ. Shush. Let the men talk.' A dribble of blood ran down her neck.

Dean jolted forward, but AJ's cry stopped him in his tracks. They were so close. He could almost reach out and touch her. Roman felt like he was suspended in time watching this entire scene with no control over the outcome. It was as if he didn't exist – like Dean had forgotten him completely. Was it these broken walls? Everything screamed isolation – even the screams and cries of the other humans was lost. In this piece of time, it was their short fragment.

'Regal, give her to me...to Roman. You can have me. Let her go,' Dean pleaded. 'I'll do whatever you want, we'll play every single game. You can cut my hair and you can take my pieces and give me new ones. Please. Please just let her go. You've had her long enough.'

Regal seemed to brighten, his mouth tugged into a smile, but half his lip fell away. He was burning to pieces as he stood. But he didn't seem to know. He was burned beyond life, but he continued to breathe, to beat, to cause such misery. 'You'll play with me Dean? Like we did before?'

'Just like before.' Dean's voice was breaking. 'Just let her go.'

'Come here.' Regal moved forward, 'you come here, close, close, close enough to cut you.'

Dean moved with obedience.

'Dean don't -,'

But Dean only hesitated a second, looked over his shoulder toward his brother. 'You look after her for me Roman. You understand? You'll do everything in the world to keep her safe. To make her happy.'

'Dean.'

'Promise me Rome.'

'I – I promise.'

It seemed to be enough for Dean. He took those cruel steps forward. His scrubs were ripped, his feet were bloody. But he didn't falter.

'Dean,'

'It's alright AJ. Everything is going to be alright.' He was so close. Regal in his excitement released AJ, who threw herself at Dean; the momentum turned them round, Dean's eyes to Roman. Her arms wrapped around him, so tight. She clung to him, moulded to him as if she were a physical part of him. Her sobs hurt. Her tears stung. 'It's ok, don't cry, you're going outside AJ. You're going to see the stars.'

'I don't need the stars, I don't need them, I always saw them in your eyes. Dean don't let him have you, don't do this for me.'

'I've run away long enough.' He whispered; his forehead on hers. 'It's time I repaid you for everything you did. Roman will look after you.'

'I love you Dean.' She gripped hold of his scrubs. 'You're my last piece and I don't want to lose you. You're my everything. I love you. I love you so much.'

Dean kissed her forehead. She couldn't see the tears that ran.

'You love him? You loved him and not me? After all I did for you? After all we've done? AJ, AJ what are you saying?' Regal's flesh tore away as he scrapped his nails down it in confusion and despair, eyelid came free as he stared. 'How can you say that? How can you...you love him? He left you! I NEVER LEFT YOU.'

He moved. But so did AJ. She seemed to know. She turned him once again. Gasped.

'AJ?' Dean's eyes widened in panic. 'What...what have you done?'

Regal stepped back, hands bloody. Fear tattooed the bloody tatters of his face.

'I didn't leave. Won't leave. Got to leave. I've got to leave.' The coward, the rotten corpse struggled away, limped into dust as AJ's legs gave way.

'AJ...what's happening?' Dean's hands refused to let go, figures explored the blood which swelled through her scrubs, found the glass that punctured through. 'AJ why did you...you can't. Don't do this. Come on girl, we have to go, we really have to go.'

She looked at him, her hand on his face, 'I see the stars Dean. I always saw them with you.'

'I'll take you to see the real stars AJ, we'll see the sky and the moon, I'll take you so far away you'll see the sun.'

'The sun...I remember the sun.' she smiled at him. Happiness in those eyes as they died.

'No...AJ. AJ, come on.' Dean tried to shake her. 'AJ COME ON.'

'Dean...' Roman moved closer, tried to put a hand on his shoulder.

'STAY AWAY.' Dean roared. He clutched her so close, like he was scared to let go. Like he was trying to force her through him straight into his body; like he was trying to push her into his heart. There were no words. Nothing could be said. The remnants of St. Jude's halls echoed with the sound of Dean's broken heart. 'You'll see stars; I promise you'll see those fucking stars.'


	30. This, Is An Intervention

**((I'm sorry to those who may have been a little upset in the last chapter, but sadly the world these boys live in is not a pretty one, it's gritty and it's dangerous. I want to thank you all for reading, and to let you know that this story is nowhere near done! Please continue to let me know what you think; I do so love reading your reviews!))**

**ADAMS**

The panic in Seth's eyes was clear. The very thought of Dean heading for the operating table was enough to make him buckle against his sticky bonds. But he was hurt, and every movement caused sweat.

'Oh stop it Seth. You should have known it would happen eventually. Your pet dog has always been rabid. It's better to put him down gently. Don't you think? Roman though...that'll be a waste, I wouldn't mind sitting on _that_ face.'

It made her angry, and Renee didn't know why. The very _audacity_ of the woman to speak of these men that way, to talk about _Roman_ that way...he'd been good to her. Looked after her, was a man on the hunt to try and bring his family back together. He wasn't an item for sexual fantasy.

'What on earth makes you think he'd let a herpes ridden bitch like you _near_ him? Renee hissed. She was almost surprised at herself. She'd never sounded so venomous, never outright tried to verbally destroy someone. Just as the gloves on her hands; it almost felt liberating. 'He's got far better taste than your diseased snatch.'

She was pretty sure she could hear Seth laugh behind that tape.

Nikki looked furious. Her face burned red hot, her mouth hung open. As if her brain couldn't quite process what was being said. Behind her, Brie didn't move, didn't say a single word, as if she were trying to hold herself back. But whether it was from laughter or rage it was hard to tell. The thing at her throat was a foreign object, out of Renee's sight, but she was getting damn tired of being held hostage in this way over and over. She wasn't a hostage. She'd damn well rescued two grown men over the past two days and to think she was a victim in all of this was almost insulting.

'Give me that Brie. Hold her!'

As it was passed, Renee finally saw what it was, an old fashioned straight razor. It was cared for well, shining silver in the window light. The sharp edge smiled at her. Fear briefly crossed her mind but was swiftly kicked aside by the growing defiance which really wanted to take her right foot and ram it so hard up Nikki's arse she'd be tasting leather for a week. Perhaps it was being thrown into this royal shit storm, but she kind of liked it. She found it all exhilarating. Nikki held that razor so close to Renee's face. She moved it around, the light dancing off the surface.

' There's no escape for any of them, or for you. But don't worry. I'll give you something pretty to remember us by...how about I take an eye? Or those lips of yours? Maybe pretty that face of yours up a bit...or...' she smiled. That ruby pout smacked in pleasure. Nikki reached out and grabbed a great fistful of Renee's golden hair. Her pride and joy.

Renee felt her stomach drop.

'Let's see what you look like without this.'

Brie made no move to halt her sister. Renee was held so tight, arms pinned that she couldn't even move. The razor slashed. Over and over great handfuls of that hair fell through the air, landed softly softly on the carpet. Tears rolled over her cheeks. But she didn't say a word. Shorter, shorter until she couldn't even see it anymore. Seth was trying to yell, tried to squirm, do anything. But no one could. The last curls fell, and Nikki stood back, arms crossed, razor pressed up against her arm, admired her handiwork. She laughed, and started to play with her weapon, flicking it around, tossing it, catching and twirling it like a knife.

'Much better, now you look interesting. Perhaps the face next.'

'Nikki,' Brie warned, 'we have a package to deliver. And be careful with that razor. I don't want it damaged.'

'You're too sentimental.'

'That's all I have left of him!' Brie defended, annoyed. Renee felt her hold slacken a little. Just like with Cesaro, all it took was a distraction, all it took was time.

'That and a defunct wedding ring,' Nikki smirked. 'Get over it Brie. We're living the dream. Look at what we get to do.' She pointed at Renee with the razor. 'I think it's an improvement.' She cocked her head to one side. 'Just think, when you were married all you were was a house wife.'

'I was more than that!' Brie snapped. She stood, dropping Renee face first as she did. 'I was more than you were! You cried and crawled after that copper like a crack whore chasing your next fix. I had a life, I was in love, I had everything I ever wanted!'

'But then he went and blew it didn't he? You can't save monsters Brie, he should have known. He should have give up, but that _noble_ heart of his. Well it didn't do him any favours did it? You're better with him in the ground. You're free without him holding you down.'

Renee's fingers clutched at her curls on that rose coloured carpet. She felt their softness in her fingers, knew she'd never again have them flow from her skull. Years of growing had grown confidence. She'd loved her hair. Had taken care of it, nurtured it, like it was her own child. It took time and patience, but just like that, it was gone.

And she didn't need it.

She felt...lighter, somehow.

The harsh slap from Brie near knocked Nikki sideways, and brought a smile to Renee's mouth. Slowly she pushed herself up from the floor, saw as the twins brawled. Hair was ripped, screams near shattered windows, blow upon blow smashed every piece of body they could reach. Somehow in the struggle, Brie managed to wrestle that razor from her sister. She moved to dodge a blow, arm shot up. Everything fell still. Renee felt breathless from just watching them, but something was different something had changed. The identical twins, weren't so similar anymore. From the corner of Nikki's eye down to her jaw, a thin red line split open, blood started to run like one great red tear.

'My face...what have you done? What have you done to me?' Nikki screamed. She held her hands to her cheek, tried to force the blood back in a frenzy. 'My face, my beautiful face! No one will want me now! No one! You've ruined me!'

Brie offered no apology, but seemed shocked at what had happened. Her eyes fell down to the bloody razor in her fingers. All she could offer her sister was a shrug,

'_Now you look interesting_,' she mimicked.

With a hellish scream, Nikki lunged for her sister. The two tumbled straight into Renee. She felt their full weight against her, saw as the razor was flung out of reach. They didn't stop, didn't move to let her up. Trapped under their confrontation, she stared desperately up at Seth, whose own eyes had fallen on that sharp edge. He glanced toward her, and allowed himself to fall off that bed. His agony made her heart clench, but she couldn't help him. Nikki's elbow smacked the back of her head and for a moment she felt the entire world swim. She shook herself tried to bring it all back to focus. Seth was out of sight, stuck down the side of the bed, trying to get closer, closer to that razor.

A pair of feet appeared in Renee's view, just in front of where the window was.

She was seriously going to have to install some kind of security measure. Too many people were finding their way into her house without her permission.

A hand reached down, smooth, far too tanned for the meagre sun that Adams saw once in a blue moon. Its manicured fingers picked up that razor, and walked silently toward her. The twins, too caught up in their fight didn't even notice him as he bent down in front of Renee.

'This, is an intervention,' he said with bright white teeth.

'What are you doing in my house?' Renee demanded. Probably an inappropriate question for someone who had seemingly just offered help, but she was pissed off.

'I was sent here to keep an eye on you, in case trouble arrived.'

'Does tying my friend up and cutting my hair off not constitute trouble?'

'I was searching the perimeter for forces of evil.'

'They're fucking on top of me!'

'Ah, yes. This is true. Allow me to remove them for you.'

He left that razor on the floor, just in front of her nose. Strong hands literally pried the twins apart. One clung to Brie, whilst the other flung Nikki out into the corridor.

'I advise you go your Bitchiness. Back up is here and your ugly is ruining my moment. Fuck off. Some assassin you are.'

Her hand still holding her face, a bruise beginning to form under her eye, Nikki hissed. But she didn't hesitate. With one last venomous look toward her sister, she staggered up, and limped away.

'She'll be back,' Brie growled.

'Yes well you're not off the hook either miss, must say though, you're gorgeous. I'm Dolph.' His eyes sparkled as he said it, and he placed her back on the floor. She landed lithely and actually put her hands on Renee and helped her up to her feet.

'I'm...sorry. I know that's nothing for what we've done to you. I, just,' she held a hand to her forehead, 'this isn't me. I don't know what I was thinking. Nikki said it would do me good, get my mind off what happened. I could get my revenge against Shield...it all sounded so sweet. But I'm not a cruel person...I don't like hurting people...Nikki was the one who always got off on it...I'm sorry. I can only say it over and over. I'm really sorry.'

Renee stared at her, and then patted her arm. 'We all make mistakes.'

'That's...it? No slap? No verbal beatdown? You're forgiving me just like that?'

Renee shrugged, 'I didn't say that. I just have bigger things to worry about than you right now.' She bent down and picked up the razor.

'Don't touch that!' Brie snapped, but then checked herself as Renee shot her a glare. 'I'm...sorry. It's just very important to me.'

'Well how about I use it to cut my friend loose, and then if you're good you can have it back. Hmm?' Renee turned her back on them and made her way to the side of the bed. Seth lay very still as she sliced through his bonds and peeled the tape from his mouth. 'How you holding out?'

'I've had better days,' he said, and ignored the hand offered to him to help him up. Instead, he used his better fingers to grip the bed and heave himself to his feet. He was a little unsteady, and smartly didn't refuse when Renee immediately placed herself as his crutch. Seth leaned on her gently, finding his balance. 'Brie Bella, of all people, I've got to say I'm surprised it took you so long.'

'Don't even speak to me!' Brie spat.

Renee was rather glad of her decision not to hand the razor back, otherwise it could have descended into another hack and slash which she really didn't need. She'd only just re-decorated. Besides, Seth had been through more than enough.

'Am I missing something here?' Dolph said. He lurked in the doorway, and couldn't seem to take his eyes off Brie's bottom. 'I mean, I can't miss this. But what's with the hate?'

'That...that _scum_ killed my husband, killed my _world_,'

'He died fast,' Seth offered. It occurred to Renee, that Seth was an ass, and didn't care if his words hurt as much as healed. He told it how he saw it, and whilst you could admire that, she almost understood the determination to hurt him. The way he'd spoken to her had been enough for her to rage quit to the kitchen. She found it hard to believe he was a murderer, but the cold way it left his lips made her shudder. 'He fought like a man. You can be proud of that.'

'I shouldn't have to be! He did nothing wrong!' Brie was shaking now. 'All he wanted was a better world, where we could raise our children and not have anything to fear, where they could be happy, where they could have dreams and they didn't have to know the shit cloud that hangs over Kennedy.'

'You have kids?' Dolph suddenly sounded turned off.

Brie's hand moved to her flat as a pancake stomach. 'No. But we wanted them so badly.'

Renee felt a pang of sympathy for the woman, and looked up into Seth's face to see if he did too. Nope, clearly not, those eyes were still stone cold.

'He defied the Authority, we were sent in. We did our job. We know now that everyone we were told was wrong, that we were used to wipe out those who threatened their power, and that's something we have to live with every day. There were a dozen less graves before we were formed. But I can't apologize for it. It happened a long time ago, and for me to say _sorry_, wouldn't change a single thing.'

'Has anyone ever told you that you're a fucking asshole Seth Rollins?' Renee asked and pointedly glared up at him.

'Oh yeah, all the time.'

Brie looked like she couldn't decide whether to laugh, cry or stab something. Before she could collapse from the crush of emotions, Dolph wrapped his arms around her, and she turned into him, and cried. It was hard to watch. This was a woman who'd lost everything. Now she'd even lost her sister. Renee couldn't help but want to comfort her, but then she looked down at the razor in her hand and was reminded that it very nearly opened her neck.

She saw her hair on the floor, and sniffed, reached up to her head.

Seemingly knowing what she was about to ask, Seth shook his head.

'Yes it looks terrible.'

She swallowed.

Brie turned around to look at her, and tried to wipe her tears away on the back of her hand.

'I'll fix it. I promise I will. I was a hairdresser before...before all of this. You'll look stunning – you did before. Nikki can't see past her own nose. She thinks the world is ugly, called me it for years...even though we're identical.' She let out an uneasy breath, 'what I did to her...'

'It was an accident.' Dolph patted her shoulder. 'You were defending yourself against her. Don't blame yourself.'

'You saw that?'

'Been watching a while.'

'So you DID see them cut my hair off?'

'Next question please.'

'Am I supposed to like you, Dolph? Because I'm getting some really mixed signals here.'

'Oh you can like him. All the women did. Even a woman who we all love to fear; making the Game jealous is a fast way to an early grave Ziggler.'

Dolph looked pleased at being recognized, 'I'm surprised you remember me Rollins.'

'How can I forget that mug? I beat it to shit a hundred times.'

'And I gave it all back to you.'

It was difficult to detect, but Renee was pretty sure she could almost hear something friendly in how they spoke to one another. As if in their battles, they'd transformed from enemies to friends. You could see it in their demeanours, how they looked at each other, there was respect there. ]

'What puzzles me though, is why you're here.'

'I was sent by a neutral party to keep an eye on Miss Renee here,' from his pocket, his arm still around Brie, he pulled out a ripped piece of paper, it had her address and name on in. 'Written out for me by the boss, copied off a note that had been given to a certain Roman Reigns.'

'Roman?'

'Roman?'

They both sounded relieved.

'Yeah that's the guy,' Dolph chuckled.

'Boss? Who's your boss?'

'Not really my place to say. But I should think you might meet him soon. He's very interested in you both. And I have no doubt that your Mr Reigns shall be joining us too – should he survive Lesnar.'

'Lesnar?' Seth's voice cracked. 'But he's never gone into the pits before...that's Dean's world. Lesnar's unbeaten -,'

'He'd find a way to win,' Renee interrupted, confident. She didn't need her hair. She had faith now. Faith in impossible things and impossible men.

'He did.'

'What?'

'He did win. That's what we meant when we said he was being hunted,' Brie bit her bottom lip, expression worried. 'He managed to escape the arena, he killed Paul Heyman. The Authority are out for blood, not revenge. They want his head on a stick.'

'Don't they all?' Renee muttered. 'So what happens now? Are you going to find your sister? Kiss and make up? Go back to the Authority and be our forever enemy?'

Brie shrugged uselessly,' I'm not a bad person...I never wanted to be. Some of the things I've done are terrible, horrible things. My heart was...is...broken, I've been so lost...I want to hate you all. It'd make it easier. The Shield ruined my life. But right now all I can see is your hair.'

'It'll grow back.'

'How can you be so accepting of this? Of what we've done? Of what's going on?'

Renee looked at the carpet, and nudged Seth's foot tenderly with her own. 'I guess I always wanted something exciting to happen, now it is. The good and the bad come hand in hand. You took my hair, but right now I still have my legs and my arms and my heart and my brain. I'd say things are going alright.'

'I wish I had your optimism,' Seth bit, but was ignored. 'If Roman escaped, he'll be trying to find Dean...if he even knows...he has to know. He has to.' He turned his eyes to the open window. '_Be safe, brother_.'


	31. The Burning Building

**((Sorry for the delay everyone! Being having major stresses due to soon moving house! Please forgive me and I'll get updates done when I can! This chapter is kind of short, but please enjoy all the same!))**

**KENNEDY**

'This as far as we can take you,' Bryan muttered. He'd not met Roman's eyes and Dean couldn't see beyond the body which was cradled in his arms. 'The Halls of Fame are where we have to stay.'

'How do you expect to change anything hiding in the dark?'

'The dead must stay dead until the right opportunity comes along Reigns.'

'So what was it that just happened huh? Was blowing up the sanitarium the wrong time?'

Bryan glared at him, 'I don't expect you to understand. We helped you.'

'You helped yourself.' Roman snapped back. 'Everything was prepared even if I hadn't survived Lesnar. Admit it Bryan, this was never about me, about Dean. You wanted to make a statement, shake the Authority but not deal with the shit that came with it. You just want to hide in your shadows and laugh at how clever you've been. People died in there Bryan. Your _take that_ killed innocents who should never have been caught up in this shit in the first place.'

The cold clap that echoed from the surrounding darkness shook his spine. It came from all directions, but emanated from the gloved hands of the hooded man. He'd almost been inseparable from the shadows. He didn't say a word, but Roman didn't need to hear any to know just what was being said. He'd just told the story of the Shield, of what they'd done. Except instead of trying to shake the Authority, they were doing its bidding. He'd always known that their history was wrong. But no one had ever called them out on it.

Until now, by simply clapping.

'What do you even need us alive for?' Roman muttered, not quite able to look up from the floor. 'Surely you, of all people, would have wanted us to blow up in that sanitarium, to die in the arena.'

Strangely, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't hard, wasn't threatening, it was...comforting. Like the hand of an old friend. Roman slowly found himself raising his head, and he finally, for the first time really saw Daniel Bryan; the real Daniel Bryan, hidden behind all the hair and the fatigue. He was still there, still hungry.

'I don't want you dead, any of you. This isn't about me; it's not about the Shield. Kennedy, Harrison, every single town in this hell strewn state, is dying. The Authority is bleeding their influence everywhere Reigns. Before it was here, but now they're taking over. This isn't their town. It's ours. Harrison isn't their town, Madison, Lincoln...every town, every city. They want complete control Reigns. Do you honestly think you're the only ones they've manipulated?' Bryan shook his head. 'I lost everything trying to fight alone. Now, people want to take a stand. The only people that the Authority have ever been afraid of, are the Shield. Even if it takes the rest of our lives, one city a time...the Authority need to be stopped.'

'You want us to help you.'

'You owe it to Kennedy, to at least do _something_ Reigns. You can't run forever.'

Dean, who'd been silent for the whole exchange, had a sudden hold of Bryan's hand. His fingers clutched so hard you could hear knuckles crack.

'Don't touch him. Don't ever fucking touch him.'

'You're a part of this too Ambrose,' Bryan objected and pulled himself free, pointed at AJ's body. 'This wouldn't have happened if not for the Authority putting her away, you away.'

If it hadn't been for the woman in his arms, Dean would have murdered him there and then. You could see it in his eyes; that violence he fought so hard to contain strained to break out. But with her weight against him, he knew he couldn't. Because whilst he hated every single word that was being said, he knew that it was the truth. Everything that slipped from the goat's tongue, was real, it was fact. He couldn't fight it, couldn't dispute it.

'Or if you hadn't blown up the sanitarium.' Roman cut in.

'He saved them, us.' Dean muttered.

Roman stared at him. Dean's gaze was locked on the patchy darkness of the floor.

'What are you talking about? People _died_ Dean.'

'You think I don't know that? They were already dead Rome! They were walking and breathing and talking but being in those walls...that's not being alive. That's how they controlled you, they killed your will and they killed your brain, gave you little things to make you _love_ them. They make you their dolls in their house because they can. In that box we were the walking dead – we escaped...AJ...she smiled at me, Rome. She was happy to go.' He held her tightly. Her head was against his shoulder, Dean had closed her eyes. He dipped his sweating forehead to touch hers. 'I'll kill that bastard. I'll destroy him inside and out. I'll cut out every organ, in alphabetical order and make him watch. But she was happy.'

Roman didn't know what was happening. The people around him didn't make sense, their words twisted and turned and he knew he was being manipulated. Dean was lost, confused. Perhaps he meant what he was saying, but it didn't justify what Daniel Bryan had done. He'd disregarded the lives of the patients simply to piss off the Authority. He'd thought it worth the sacrifice. You could see it, hear it in how he spoke. He believed he did the right thing.

'Dean, we're leaving.'

'You can't just walk away Reigns. You'll come back. You'll realize you can't run from the Authority – they'll always find you. You'll have to fight again.'

Roman refused to answer him. He steered Dean by his shoulders away, toward the exit of the halls. They'd been brought to it, told that it came out at the edge of the city. They were on their own from there. AJ needed a burial. The woodlands on the edge of Kennedy would be the only place they'd have a chance without being interrupted. He didn't want to stay in the city a second longer than he had to. All it did was poison his mind and his blood. His body ached and his wounds stung.

It didn't matter if Daniel Bryan was right, or if he was wrong. This wasn't his fight. He'd battled enough for a thousand years. He'd tasted his own blood too many times. He'd dragged his brothers' wounded bodies for miles and he'd had enough. He was tired, he was broken, and he just wanted to sleep. Dean didn't resist him, and moved ahead, never looking back. Roman didn't even grant Bryan a parting glance. Kennedy could burn for all he cared. He'd found his precious thing in the burning building. Dean was safe. Dean was alive and he was free.

Kennedy didn't matter.

His brothers mattered. The Shield mattered.

Revolution belonged in the dirt where they'd buried it. If they wanted to create their own shit storm it was up to them. He wanted nothing of it. He'd been a soldier once – it hadn't worked out.

'I don't want to come back Rome. I want out, of all of it. I want away from this state.' Dean moved far slower than usual, all his energy taken, sapped by the woman in his arms. She was a serene thing; seemed to be sleeping rather than dead. Dean didn't appear to struggle with her, she almost seemed light, but when she'd slipped away, she'd stolen the light in his eyes – those stars she was so fond of.

'We won't. We'll get Seth, and we'll be gone Dean. We'll get away, and we'll never come back.'

His brother seemed to take some comfort from the promise, but the cloud still hung over them. The weight of the truth Bryan had hit them with was uncomfortable. It dug so deep that silence cut between them. Their steps were empty and the possibility of danger was virtually ignored. They could have been confronted by the Game, by his men at any moment. The delay caused by Bryan would have been more than enough for the enemy to have caught up. But for once, it seemed that luck followed them. The early evening was the same colour as the morning. Grey painted the sky and the road and the walls. Dean almost blended into the world with his ripped scrubs.

The roads were cold and empty – ZZ Highway stretched out ahead and they had little choice but to follow its line. The woodland acres stretched out toward the west, and before long they found themselves at its edge.

'You know what's in here.'

'Yeah.' Dean's voice was as empty as his eyes.

'They might find us if we're too long.'

But Dean didn't care. Nothing would have stopped him from what he'd decided. His girl would see her stars, even if it killed them both.


	32. Almost Human

**((Another chapter for you all! I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!))**

**ADAMS**

Brie snipped very slowly; each movement deliberate, as if she were trying to calculate what she was doing. Or perhaps it was because her hand was shaking so much. It would have been impossible to miss the look of shock as Renee had taken her by the hand and guided her into the kitchen, sat herself down on a chair and handed her the scissors. The boys were left behind, with Dolph helping Seth to redress – the house was no longer safe. The twins had found them through the diner, snagging Renee's employee details from Shawn. The old man had handed it over without a thought, simply because they'd told him they were sent by Hunter.

But as the few precious locks disappeared, Renee still couldn't find it in her to hate Shawn, or even condemn him. He was confused...as lost as she'd been. They'd found each other in that diner, both wanted to belong to something. She'd found herself in this fiasco, whilst he still clung to the memory of being with the Game. _The Game_, she knew little of the man, but he seemed to be the dark cloud which hung over them all. The name had been whittled off a million times by Shawn, and she'd been told that he was the one who owned the diner, but that was all she really knew.

'Tell me about him,' she asked Brie. She felt the other woman's fingers glide through her hair, trying to assess where to cut next, 'tell me about the Game. Who is he? Why does everyone hate him so much?'

Brie paused, 'He's the boss; the man in charge of Kennedy, of Harrison...of everywhere and everything.' She gently snipped again, 'He took control when his wife's father, the previous head of the Authority handed over power to his daughter. He used to be against them, a long time ago. But those days are long gone. Now, people fear him, and if they don't, they're foolish. Even your Shield friends know to be afraid. The Game doesn't forgive, and he doesn't forget, he's a very dangerous enemy to have.'

'Why do you work for him?'

'For something to do...when my husband died I was lost. Nikki was already in employment and pulled me into it.'

'So you don't like him then?'

'I've never met him. I've seen him from a distance and that was close enough.'

Renee adjusted how she sat in the chair, her eyes out of the window as the evening drew in. The sky was a dusky grey, clouds drifted on in and whilst the storms had long passed, she couldn't help but shudder.

'Roman told me that they used to work for him. That they did terrible things for him, and now that they've abandoned him, he wants them dead...and that they took something. But he won't say what.'

The scissors stopped, and Brie seemed to have frozen.

'What's wrong?'

'They took something from him?' she put the scissors down on the table and moved around in front of Renee, her face was urgent and her face drawn, pale as if she'd seen a ghost. 'Renee, listen to me. If the Shield has stolen something from the Game, he'll pursue until he gets it back. It won't matter what or who is in his way, he'll destroy everything just to get it back. You have to get out of this, run away; he won't care if you're innocent. He'll see that you're with the Shield and that'll be more than enough reason to kill you too.'

Renee swallowed, but took Brie's hand in her own, looked at her, really looked at this woman. It was strange to see someone so afraid of her. She was a whip strike, Brie's emotions snapped to and fro and Renee had no idea where they were going to land. She swapped from fear to rage to despair to this. Her fingertip brushed over that gold band on the other woman's wedding finger.

'Is that what happened? Did your husband steal something?'

'It was never the Game's to begin with!' Brie snapped and snatched her hand away. But she regained her composure quickly, as if mentally chastising herself for acting that way. She swallowed and pressed her hand against her stomach. 'We were having our first baby. I'd only just found out I was pregnant. We saved up everything we had to try and get our place done up. But then...the Game's goons came to the house when he was out. They ransacked everything. I tried to fight back but...' she closed her eyes, took a deep breath. 'They kicked me in the stomach.'

Renee felt her blood run cold.

'They knew I was pregnant. They were sent deliberately – a warning to my husband about what would happen if he carried on trying to start a revolution. All our money, gone, our future, gone...I begged him not to retaliate, but he did. He attacked one of the underground fights, took all the betting money. He managed to get it to me...told me to hide, then the Shield...' her face crumpled. Renee was on her feet and guided the other woman into the chair. Brie's face was in her hands, her sobs leaked between her skinny fingers. She cried, and cried, but Renee didn't stop her. She boiled the kettle, and when Brie's tears ran out, Renee gently pushed a mug of hot chocolate into her hand. 'Thank you, Renee...why are you being so nice to me? After what we did?'

'Because Brie, you've had a shit time.' Renee perched on the edge of the table, careful to avoid the scissors. 'It's not fair of me to hate you. What you did was wrong, sure, but you're trying to make it right. I can't hate you for that.'

Brie sniffed and rubbed her nose on the back of her hand before taking a grateful sip of the drink.

'I wish I'd met you before Renee, you're so calm.'

'Ha! Not always. I slapped Roman last night because he was being a jerk.'

Brie looked impressed, 'And you got away with it? From what I've heard Roman Reigns doesn't deal well with people socking him one.'

Renee shrugged, 'I don't take kindly to being treated like background noise. Mr Reigns pulled me headfirst into this, and I deserve to be recognized for surviving this far and doing this much. I've saved that man's ass, and Seth's. I'd hardly call myself an inconvenient damsel.'

Brie took another mouthful and laughed emptily, 'I used to think that. I wanted to be a part of the rebellion, but no, it wasn't safe. With a baby on the way I should lie low.'

'Wise advice,'

'And look where it found me.' Brie was a thin creature, but she was strong, you could see it in her bare arms with the slight tip of the mug. She was dressed plainly compared to what her psychotic twin had been exhibiting. But behind those dark leggings and black t, you could see core muscle. She wasn't someone who could be easily pushed around. 'I'm at the mercy of my own stupidity and crying about my woes to a stranger in a strange kitchen.'

'What's wrong with my kitchen?' Renee pouted and looked around, 'I've always thought of it as homely.'

It was a squat little thing, with only just enough room to fit the table and chair which they were at now. There was a small cooker, a few cupboards and her fridge. The toaster and the kettle sat on the side next to the fruit bowl which was stuffed full of red apples and red grapes. There were photos of her mom and dad stuck to the fridge, and in the very corner was Lillian's bed. The cat herself was still in the bedroom – she'd definitely taken a shine to the multi-coloured haired man.

'Nothing at all – it's adorable. Wish I'd had a kitchen like this – our house was little more than a shack. Not the best place for raising a baby – exactly the reason we wanted to do it up. We were going to do everything ourselves, but it was for materials and things...' she sighed, 'I need to get over this. It was a long time ago, but it feels like it's just happened. Like every now and again, I feel her kick, even though this belly is long empty.' Brie took another glug of hot chocolate. 'This is really good – you put cream in this?'

'Always – mom always did that for me when I was little.'

'It's delicious – haven't had hot chocolate for years.'

'It's my favourite. Brie, I have to ask, and I'm really sorry I am but...what were you going to call her?'

To Renee's surprise, Brie smiled. It was the first time she'd done so since they'd met, and it was one of the brightest things she'd ever seen. Brie's full scarlet mouth made the most sincere smile, it was warming to see.

'Josie. Sometimes I picture what she would be like. I think she'd have his eyes, but my nose.'

The door to the kitchen suddenly opened, and there, supported by Dolph, Lillian drifting round his legs, purring so hard she practically vibrated, was Seth. He looked much cleaner than before, his hair washed and clothes on his body, ones that Renee recognized as the old work shirts she'd stolen off her dad years before for house work. He looked almost healthier, months of grime gone. He even smelled alright, it was only now that he was clean that she'd realized just how bad his odour had been.

'Seth Rollins, looking fresh,' she said, arms crossed, 'you know you look almost human.'

'Hardy ha ha,' he laughed bitterly.

'Ready for removal Miss Renee,' Dolph saluted. 'Need me to move anything out to the truck for you?'

She'd not even thought about what to take with her. The prospect of leaving her lovely little box house was too much to swallow so she'd simply spat it out. Her eyes drifted around the kitchen, the room she loved so much, and she knew it could be a long while until she could come back again. They'd been compromised. But where could they go? Dolph had told them that Kennedy was out of the question, as was Harrison, they'd have to keep on the move. But Dolph wouldn't be able to stay with them – different members of the rebellion would liaison.

'I'll help you pack Renee,' Brie put the mug on the table and stood, 'and I'll stay with you both. I need to redeem myself for what I've done. I can protect you.'

'Thanks,' Seth muttered sarcastically. Whilst it seemed like it was a cut at Brie, Renee could sense it was simply because Seth felt completely and utterly useless. He was still unwell, and whilst he had a little more colour in his cheeks, his fingers were still broken, his body wasted it was clear that if Dolph hadn't have been holding him up, he'd be a crumpled pile on the floor.

'I'm not doing this for you Rollins,' Brie said with a hard glare.

Seth seemed to miss the murderous look and instead focused on Renee. 'We need to move.'

It took half an hour to pile her few precious belongings into her never used gym bag. She and Brie had dashed throughout the small house, grabbing this and that. She'd thrown a handful of clothes in, a photo of her parents, a towel, deodorant, shoes, a hair brush, soap and somehow, between the two of them, they'd managed to squish Lillian's cat bed in. Lillian herself seemed unsure of all the fuss and spent the whole thing curled up on Seth's lap. Dolph collected food supplies. It felt like they were packing for the end of the world.

'Got everything?'

Renee zipped up her raincoat, her scarf wound round her neck. Brie herself tugged on a borrowed jumper. Dolph was at the table, stuffing the remains of the first aid kit into a box. Where he'd gotten the box she had no idea. Perhaps it was left over from where she'd moved in. Seth looked grouchy at just sitting there. But as the clouds tumbled in and the skies darkened, they found themselves piling out of the house. Lillian was caught up in Brie's arms, and Renee's heart sank further and further into her boots as she locked the door. Her eyes rolled over the face of the home she'd called her own. Together they loaded the truck, and slammed everything shut. The world seemed far too close, and every danger on her doorstep as Renee clambered into the driver's seat. Brie sat next to her, Lillian in her lap.

The truck rumbled to life, and Renee's hands shook as she took the wheel.

'Everything's going to be alright Renee, you'll get through this, we all will.'

Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath. Of all people, she hadn't expected those words from Seth. He'd been nothing but tense, untrusting, but now, right when she needed to hear something comforting, he'd given it to her. His words were calm, full of belief, words that could have come straight from the mouth of another man she'd driven. He was out there, somewhere, running, just like they were. Maybe they'd find each other, maybe the Shield would be reunited, but what came then?

'We should go Renee,' Brie patted her arm.

Yes, they should.

Slowly she pulled out of the driveway, and started down the road, headed through her small town. Adams had been her home, but now, like everything else, she was leaving it all behind, because of a chance encounter with a strange man in a diner. This curious adventure was throwing everything into upheaval. The dodgy road with its uneven surface required all her concentration, but she'd left half her brain at her front door.

'Renee look out!'

She screamed, the body smacked up over the front of the truck, smashed against the windscreen headfirst as the truck screeched to a halt, near tipping over, but somehow, somehow landed on four wheels. Heart hammered, mind flashed back to the red monster she'd hit previously, but this wasn't it. This was a man, a man with missing teeth and wide eyes, who even as his blood seeped over the glass, waved his fingers through the screen.

'Miss Renee? My name's Mick Foley – I'm a doctor,' he whimpered. Renee's heart was several metres behind them and she was frozen in her seat as the man somehow detached himself from the car and slid down the bonnet to the asphalt. He managed to limp round to the driver's door and knocked on the window. Without thinking Renee rolled it down, and found herself face to face with the wild haired man. 'I was sent by your friend Mr Reigns to see to Mr Rollins, can I come in?'

'Are you alright?'

'Oh yes, I'm fine. More than fine, you never feel more alive than when you're getting hit by trucks. Just as well I'd stood there; you might never have hit me, or seen me.'

His voice was gentle, but wheezy, as if he had holes in his lungs.

She didn't know him, didn't know if he could be trusted, had no idea if he was lying to her. But his mention of Roman, someone she _did_ trust in all this craziness, made her stomach clench. She nodded slowly.

'Dolph open the door,'

'Renee I don't know if that's -,'

'Do it. Just let him in. Seth needs a doctor. Watch him. Just do it.'

She heard the door open and felt the truck lower a little from the extra weight. It was another body to carry, another mouth to feed, but she didn't have the strength to turn him away. This Mick Foley, if he was indeed a doctor, he could help Seth. The faster he healed, the better their chances were of staying one step ahead of being found. It was one question after another, and perhaps he had some answers. Renee pulled away once again, their strange group of misfits growing by the hour.

She didn't know where she was heading, but she hoped it was safe.


	33. Seven Ways To Sunday

**((We're almost at 4000 views! Massive thanks to everyone who has taken time to stop by. To everyone who has written reviews, big thanks! This next chapter is dedicated to all of you for letting me know what you've thought and given your support. I appreciate every single syllable!))**

**COTTONWOOD**

Roman knew little of trees. They stretched too high, blocked out any light Dean hoped to find. Thousands splintered the cold earth and snaked up, spread wide covered the land like some plague. There was nothing beautiful. The bark was black and rotting, some painted with haphazard white in some vain attempt to protect them. But there was a cold which cut through every single living thing. Roman could feel it curl over his bare skin, seeping in through the bruises and cuts. He'd not had time to stop, inspect his injuries; the woodland air did it for him, licked his wounds like a dog. Dean was bare foot, not noticing the sharp of dirt or stone or wood. He walked as if in a trance, following some transient path that only he could see, leading him to his stars. Roman didn't know the last time he'd seen those lights in the sky. Maybe once, when he was a kid, somewhere beyond the State, he'd spied them up there. But his memories were hazed by years of violence. It was hard to find the light.

'Hope you know where you're heading Dean,' Roman muttered, more to himself than anything. He disliked the darkest parts of the world; he knew how unpredictable they were, how really, he knew nothing of them. But Dean...Dean belonged in shadow and in the grim danger of it all; it was where he was born and he was bred. He'd suffered and he'd lived. It was rare the two didn't go hand in hand, as AJ was in his arms. Roman stopped, head turned toward where the sky should have been, but it was blocked by a thick canopy of leaves. They were trying to navigate without help, through the unknown. He could see his friend, Dean unhampered by the dark, as he moved ahead. There was no slowing him down, led by the glow he could somehow sense.

It was perhaps the sickest joke of them all, that the most damaged of them, could see the light in everything.

Roman felt uneasy; there were eyes throughout these woodlands, creatures both animal and human lurked out of sight. He could almost hear them through the winds cruel rustle of dead leaves. He didn't want to stay, didn't want to wait until it was too late. Cottonwood wasn't ruled by the Authority, there were darker powers at work, hidden at the black heart of the woodland. They'd ventured through the trees before, and had only managed to escape with their lives, because they'd been allowed to. The ground was uneven, unwilling to take his weight. Strangers were eaten alive, lost forever in the endlessness. His own breathing seemed too loud. His lungs hurt. The quiet was tailored to sever his nerves. He'd been pushed too far all ready. Every sense was screaming, and he felt eyes on him as he stood.

'Dean, Dean we gotta go, we have to leave.'

But Dean was nowhere. He'd gone, evaporated into the shadows. Roman's heart hammered, head swung left and right, his eyes burned against the bark and the hollows. 'Dean?' he couldn't just stay, he had to move, he was leaving himself out in the open, vulnerable. The wind scraped leaves, and whistled through the gaps, a haunting howl that chased him as he started to move. First he walked, but it was too slow, he started to run. His muscles strained, over-exerted. He could feel acid in his arms and his legs. He'd ruined himself. All of his energy, all of his will and his power had been pummelled out of him by Lesnar's fists and Dean's broken heart. How could he carry his brothers if he could barely walk?

His booted feet struck the earth hard and heavy. The leaves and dirt hid all hazard and trap. This scene was replaying over and over, nothing changed, as if he were caught in a nightmare, forever running but never gaining, stuck in a cruel cycle. He'd found himself lost in the Halls of Fame, but this was Cottonwood.

'Dean!' he had to stop, his legs couldn't take it, they gave out and he crashed to the earth, hands scraped and knees of his combats tore on stone and hardened root. He was so far from everything he couldn't even think of how to push himself back onto his feet. What had he done to deserve it all? Was it blindly following the Game's orders? Was his punishment to live in the dark to atone for every sin? He'd done wrong, he'd hurt and he'd tortured and he'd killed. He could remember the faces of each and every single one he'd silenced and dumped into cold graves. He wasn't a good man. He wasn't a hero, couldn't call himself a soldier because the belief was gone. He'd never claimed to be anything other than who he was, what he was. He was Roman Reigns, he was a killer, a thug, a lover, a son, he was a mercenary, he was lost, he was afraid, he was a brother, he was everything and nothing.

He was breaking into pieces as sharp as flint and miniscule as the ground up dirt. He clenched it in his fingers, moulded it into his palms and threw it aside. This was frustration, irritation, he felt like a child who'd been abandoned for being bad, for not listening, for doing everything wrong. The woods were laughing at him, big bad Roman Reigns with his bleeding knees in the dirt. Why didn't it just open him up and swallow him whole? If this was his punishment then he chose death – but then he couldn't guarantee it anymore; death didn't mean the end, he'd seen the dead walk, he'd felt its hand on his shoulder.

It felt heavy there now.

'Rome?'

'I don't want to stay here Dean. I'm losing my mind and I can't stop it. The fucking dark, I want light. I want all the light I want electricity and I want fire and I want the sun. I don't know the sun. I've never seen it, I envy AJ.'

Dean pulled him up, looked at his busted hands and his empty face and for a moment he seemed at a loss. But then, like Dean always knew how, he pulled him back. He drew his fist tight, smashed it hard into Roman's jaw. The force behind it sent him reeling, a cruel reminder of the power possessed by Dean Ambrose, with, or without his _Dirty Deeds_ strapped on. Roman's eyes were wide, hand on his chin, felt it throb. But he didn't feel shock; he didn't feel anything but blinding rage. With a roar, he charged, he threw his entire weight against Dean, slammed him back into one of the tree trunks. He threw fists, he kicked, he screamed. Even as flesh opened and eye swelled shut.

'It's ok Rome.' Dean managed, somewhere between a tooth flying and his body crumpling at the base of the tree. 'Get it out.'

But Roman, lungs straining, every breath a labour finally saw. He saw what he'd done; Dean sat in the dirt as his face started to turn purple, as his nose dribbled blood and his eye closed, his elbows on his perked knees, one hand to his mouth as he rubbed his stubble.

'Guess you're keeping a lot in Rome; think I just swallowed a tooth.' Dean opened his mouth, played with his tongue, a gap two teeth wide on the left side. But he'd lost worse. That was the thing. There was always worse. He knew that. He'd seen it in AJ's face as her soul died and she finally escaped the sanitarium forever; to live and to be locked away, behind a door, or even in Regal's psychotic embrace was torture, hell. To die was to be free. He'd never been afraid of dying; hell, the way he lived it was a miracle he wasn't gone already. What scared him was the idea that it could so easily snatch away those he loved. It was why he'd stayed away; shit found him. He drew it in like he was a magnet. 'Wanna talk Rome?'

Dean was a man of many words, psychobabble which confused and misled; he was the proverbial serpent leading the innocent astray and luring in the wicked with his forked tongue. But Rome kept it all in. When Dean needed to get it all out, it would build and build until words weren't enough and he'd explode, showering violence and bloodlust over whoever was unfortunate enough to be too close. His brothers had held him down, had glued him into their arms until he was calm, mumbled comfort when he'd tried to slash their throats or break their legs, seeing monsters instead of friends. Roman Reigns was a man of control, he didn't detonate.

This was the first time he'd broken.

'We should never have separated.' Roman found himself pacing, back, forth, hands tugging his mane. 'This was my fault, if I'd have listened more, tried to help Seth...he would never have left us. We'd never have had to pull him out, you wouldn't have been shot, he wouldn't be sick, she wouldn't be in this mess...this is all because of me.'

'Hold on there hoss, pretty sure I helped too.' Dean felt in his pockets for cigarettes which weren't there, and disappointed, he picked up the nearest twig and started to strip it of its rotten bark. The grime gathered under his already filthy nails. 'Think I'm prime candidate of the _drive sethiekins away_ club.'

'You two were always closest of the three of us,' Roman insisted, 'I always wanted to be in there, closer to you both. I hated the fact that I always felt like an afterthought. I didn't give him the attention he needed, I didn't give you the help...I just walked through it in a fucking haze and until now I never saw it.'

Dean threw the stick at Roman's head. It bounced off and disappeared into the dark.

'Shut the fuck up. Blame yourself for this shit all you want. Not gonna change anything. All you fucking humans, all you do is complain about how shit went down, how you shoulda done this and that and _who the fuck cares_? It fucking happened Rome. Deal with it. Someone gets shot, the bullets fall out. Someone thinks he's got a golden cock and realizes he's rusted tin like the rest of us mortals. Get off your high horse; cos you don't look pretty you look fucking stupid. This isn't about you. It ain't about me and it sure as hell ain't about Seth. This black eye?' Dean pointed at it, pressed down on the puffiness as if to flatten it and let go. 'This is the past. I don't give a shit how or why I got it. It's there and I'll deal with it when it matters. These teeth,' he opened his mouth and licked the gap. 'Fucking overrated, never knew why I needed so many to begin with.'

Dean pressed his hands into the dirt and shoved himself to his feet, he moved, hand gripped the back of Roman's neck and pulled him into a long overdue embrace. Head to head, sweat to sweat, brother to brother.

'I love you brother; I lost a sister tonight, don't be a shit and make me bury someone else, cos I might just ram the shovel down my own throat.'

Roman closed his eyes. Dean's hands were some black magic; the lunatic who could bring the ultimate calm to anyone with just a touch. It was something bewildering and something demonic but he couldn't walk away from it. He didn't want to. He'd missed it.

'Doubt the ladies would want you with a shovel sticking out your ass.'

'I've heard it's an attractive feature.'

'You would.' Roman let out the breath it felt as if he'd been holding for the hours since he'd first been on the road, heading down ZZ Highway toward Kennedy, the very nightmare they wanted to leave behind. 'I met a girl. You'd like her. She could kick my ass seven ways to Sunday. But somehow I don't think she'd like to see your shit shovel.'

Dean snorted and patted Rome on the back, releasing his hold. 'Ain't got no lady on my mind right now 'cept the one covered in dirt.' He sniffed, rubbed his nose on the back of a filthy hand. Everything about him was disgusting; from the dried blood and the _smell_ which came off him, as if he'd not bathed in months. His hair was knotted, but slick from sweat which made him seem slimy. His eyes had sunk, his mouth hollow like a pumpkin's grin. But he was Dean fucking Ambrose. He was there, he was real and he was alive. Out of that fucking white box, forever. His head turned away from them both, ahead through the dark. 'Found a real nice patch for her, ground real soft, lil' gap in the trees so she can see that sky Rome; I think she'd like that.'

'I'm sure she would Dean,' it was near impossible to miss the sudden emptiness in his friend's voice as he spoke of AJ. Rome only knew what Dean had said of her before; he'd spoken of a stain on the white, the spec of colour who'd broken him in, had tamed the beast inside, had shown him restraint and devotion. His mother had killed herself, his father had stabbed his son and suckerpunched himself into the can. Dean had no one until her. 'Can I see, Dean?' he wanted to thank this woman, even in her death, for what she'd done. Because if she hadn't, there may never have been a Dean Ambrose, and there never would have been a Shield.

Dean himself moved off and led the way. It didn't take long, and the light cut through like a knife. Gaps between branches and leaves allowed some safety from the choking darkness. The wind harsher, a strangled hole as it screamed through the trees and tore into the leaves. But there, among the patches of night light, was a rushed pile of dirt, weighed over with stones. There were no flowers, no tombstone, but a lone promise fulfilled. Roman stood next to her, and he looked up. There, just visible, through those blessed patches in those trees, was something he'd not seen for years; starlight. There was something warming, even in the biting cold, at just seeing those burning balls of gas. As if they were a reminder, that there was always something at the end of it. But as he strained his eyes to see as the trees moved, he realized he was wrong. He had seen the stars, the previous night, reflecting back at him in a woman's eyes.

'It was the best I could do. I think it'll do. Do you think it'll do? Every time I buried someone before I had a nice sharp shovel and not these,' Dean held up his hands, covered in soil and scratched from the stones. 'These aren't good for this sort of thing.' He dropped his arms to his sides and looked down to the stones and earth which covered her. 'I'd kinda forgotten how hard this was. Used to be so fucking easy. Kill a fucker, plant him and watch the mushrooms grow. But this...I...she fucking _mattered_ Rome. She mattered so much.'

Roman planted his hand on Dean's shoulder. It said more than words could.

'We should go Dean. We've been here too long; they'll know we're here. They would have known as soon as we stepped into the woods.'

His brother flexed his fingers, bent them into fists. 'Let 'em come. I've unfinished business with that fat fucker.'

'Not when we're both like this Dean; we'll be gutted like pigs before you even had a chance to fight. You know that.'

'That was a misunderstanding.'

'Dean you're missing a kidney from last time.'

'I only need the one.' Dean protested. 'I can take 'em. I need something like this. Got a lotta shit to get out. Need some faces to pummel, some hair to rip out and shove down his mouth to try and shut him up.' He cracked his neck. 'Heard enough preaching for the rest of my fucking life.'

Roman hadn't let go of his shoulder and moved his grip down to the wrist. Before Dean could stop him, Roman hauled him up from the ground, slung him across his shoulders, and started to walk away. Any direction could have been the one they'd come from. Dean struggled and bucked against his brother.

'Put me down shithead!'

'Forget it. I'm not sticking around so you can get your rocks off cutting your teeth,' Roman grunted. He had no idea where to go, and was almost reluctant to leave the safety of the stars. But they'd outstayed their welcome. The eyes he'd felt burn him before were just out of sight, he could sense it. They were closing in, waiting for the moment to strike.

'Rome.' Dean's countenance was different, rigid, still. 'Rome, put me down _fucking now_.' He hissed, but there was something in it. A very real fear which was as cold as the wind which lapped over their bodies; Dean's gut was never wrong. Roman quickly did as he was told; they moved back to back, eyes swept over their woodland prison, the walls of the dark up against them.

Someone laughed. It echoed louder than any storm, came from all directions but hit against them. They knew that sound. They knew the monster it belonged to, an eater of worlds.

'Welcome to my yard boys; I hope you like it, because you ain't ever leavin'.'

There was no light. The darkness came and swallowed them whole.


	34. All Out Of Prayers

**((We've made it to over 4000 views! Well done everyone! Thank you so much! I'm very proud that this has done as well as it has, and it's not done yet! I'm sure eventually I'll have to divide it into different chapters, but we shall see! Meanwhile please enjoy this next extra long chapter!))**

**COTTONWOOD**

There was something about the hypnotic sway of that naked bulb. It barely shone, flickered easily, not quite here. Not quite there. There was something about the smell – woody, rotten, something infested the air and made it heavy and damp. His throat felt as if it had been plugged with cotton, dry, unpleasant, head just as bad. Beneath him was something hard and soft all at once, spongy and old; a mattress. Slight movement brought irritated spring squeaks, and he knew he was on a bed. But how had he gotten there? A hand to the head to try and quell the splitting ache with cut through his brain. His eyes were fuzzy, adjusted slowly, too slowly to the light. Patches of smoke worked their way up his nostrils, annoyed the hairs and made him sneeze. The dust particles scattered away with mucus and sweat. It was hot, too hot. The cold outside forgotten immediately for the intense heat which bathed his skin, weighed down the flies which buzzed somewhere above him.

'What...Rome?' Dean peered around, but there was no sign of his brother. 'Rome?' hands to the mattress now, ready to push him up, but he was pulled back. He hit the mattress again hard, looked in confusion to what had stopped him. Rope, thick knotted around his ankles and wrists so tight blood was on its weave. 'Fuck.'

There was one good bit of news from this. He was alive. They hadn't taken his other kidney. But this was bad, this was fucking bad. Rome had been right, they should have gone, they should have escaped before they were found. Dean tugged at his bonds, took his teeth to them but found it too strong for his remaining smoke stained ivories to chew. He rolled his head against the pillow, saw where the ropes connected to the frame. Someone didn't want him going anywhere. He knew exactly who. The Shield had always been shown their enemies...until Dean had picked this. He'd stumbled through the wreckage of Kennedy, high off the snorted drabs of that sweet special K they'd hooked him on years before. He'd found himself lost, found himself among trees. He could remember that cruel grin which cut through the night like a sickle. He'd lost more than a kidney that night. Nails and teeth, hair and chunks of flesh had been ripped away for the monster's giggle.

Seth had found him, Roman in tow. The battle had waged, and ended with the Hounds limping away in defeat, dragging Dean's carcass with them. It wasn't the last time they met. Never a victory won by the Shield. Dean knew demons; they crawled inside his skull, made him see things that weren't, say things that made no sense, they made him crave blood and smoke and that terrible sweet Ketamine. He was strong. He always had been. Had to be, to survive the fucked up world he called home. But the demons that lurked in the hollows of Cottonwood were more than the voices in his head.

They lived and breathed. They had bodies and eyes which were fireflies in the dark. They had voices which sang the sweetest of lullabies as they tore the flesh from your bones.

He curled his fingers into fists, wrenched at the ropes once more. The bed squeaked and he heaved and all that happened was that it complained more.

What room was this?

All wooden walls and wooden floors and wooden roof; he'd traded one box for another. There was that light bulb, it swung with the wind that snaked through the gaps at the top and bottom of the door but it was hot wind. It smelled sweet as honeysuckle and bitter as sweat. He could taste that wood smoke, somewhere beyond him. This was not a good place to be.

But where was Roman?

'Rome!' Dean roared, pulled at the ropes, did nothing but tighten them in his struggles. 'Rome I need you!'

It might have been the heat, but the room felt like it was swaying with the buzz of those flies. The hot waxy walls that seemed to bend as he looked about; looked as if they were going to fall in on him. The shadows in the corners grinned in that meagre light, everything too heavy, too much. It was acid melted through his blood, corrupting his eyes, betraying his senses. He felt too big, too fat as if he'd taken in all the noxious air in the room, body lazy, numb as he was flat on that bed. His wrists arched to his sides, the rope not allowing slack. His body was still clothed in those thin scrubs. The only way too be cool would have been to rip his own skin off his skeleton. Would that be so bad?

The door opened, the door closed, his weak head up from the filthy pillow to try and spy who it was. The Lamb of God was an imposing thing; or was it of the Devil? There were monsters here. It stood, silent, head cocked to one side, those unblinking eyes and that white face, pale and albino. Its ashen curls gave way to thick red. The light bulb gave out. He couldn't hear it move; just another vision of a madman. But he wasn't mad – he wasn't. He'd been cured by her touch and their love. He just had to keep it inside. His demons couldn't be in the real world.

But he'd seen this one before.

Heart beat hard, harder, hardest. His breaths were too loud. The last draws of power in that bulb burned out. This was darkness. He was bound inside his own box; his own brain. He felt fear – true real, it squirmed throughout him like a snake through his gut. But he was too gone; half dead and half alive and lost in the middle. Light, little pretty light overhead; it hung like his very own sun. That face, it blocked it away, it made his eyes close, his head turn away. This nightmare, this wasn't his creation. This was the child of someone else. Something was pushed against his mouth.

No.

Dean turned himself away as much as he could, but a hand gripped his face, fingers forced between his teeth, made his mouth open. Something cold flushed down his gullet. It splashed over his burning face, cooled him only for a minute. His eyes opened a little, saw that lamb stare at him, empty glass clasped in giant fist. He could taste that water. He wanted every drop, he wanted more; he wanted a fucking endless well because he'd drink it dry and still want more. His body was a desert, energy sapped.

'What do you want?' he was tired of this shit. Life was a landslide, and with every minute he was drowning under the oncoming dirt, it was falling harder and harder against him, never letting him, testing him, torturing him. Had he seen this room before? It was hard to tell; his right mind had never been present in Cottonwood. 'Where's my brother?'

But nothing; the lamb was voiceless and drifted away, the little light returning over Dean's face. The door opened. The door closed.

The creak of something in the corner, of another body; another heavenly monster.

'You and your boys just didn't learn,' he was too pleased. This was the voice that spoke to the core of any criminal, any lost boy. He was the sound of children. The madness in his eyes was imported, selected and seared into him. He collected the lost. 'You didn't learn, that this is _my_ kingdom, and you only come to my door when you need me. Dean, Dean you said you didn't need me when I needed what you had to give. Isn't that a shame? I think it is, because you see Dean, you brought me what I needed again; I'm starting to like you and your direction. You keep coming back when you should have learned what would happen. I liked your body once; it would have done well but your brothers, they took it away. So I needed another, and another, but none of them were right Dean. I wanted something special, only the best would be good enough for her. Oh and she liked what you brought Dean, she's talking to me, telling me, whispering that you did well. That all along you would do what she wanted. She never left you did she Dean? I poured her in your ear when we took you apart and fed you to her to give her strength.'

Madness, ever-lasting madness was an infection. It ate his heart and it rotted his brain. She was in his head; she'd always been in his head.

'She told me what you did Dean. She told me you buried her new bones in my yard. You brought us your beating heart and your bleeding brain. It's all right; you found your way home again.' The laugh, 'I heard a story Dean. I heard the walls of St. Jude's came tumbling down, knocked out from under their clever feet. Clever feet, clever brains they don't know the truth. They never saw, but you did, you always knew that it was nothing! Nothing more than their illusion locked in their skulls, and that the truth Dean the truth is we're all animals, we're all monsters, but you – you are special Dean, you're the greatest demon of them all, that's why you were always the one. Even when they took you away, I knew I'd find the rest of your pieces one day.'

'Wyatt, where's Roman?'

'Your friend is staying with us, our special guest.' Wyatt leaned forward in that chair, _her _chair. 'He's quiet, strong, yes, yes he'll do well too. He'll be perfect for when she comes again.'

_Her, she_, oh Sister Abigail, your false prophet is lost too – Wyatt rocked in that chair, determined for his messianic rise.

'What do you want with us now? Haven't you taken enough of me?'

'Enough! Ha! Never enough Dean; I am only her mouth, you shall be her heart and your friend will be her body.'

Dean strained against his ropes, 'Leave Roman out of this.'

'Oh no, you misunderstand.' Wyatt was on his feet, next to the bed; far too bright eyes bore down into Dean's. 'You brought her here Dean – she's the perfect vessel. We'll meet again soon, she'll bring judgement Dean, and you'll be loved by her. This is a world Dean that we build bone by bone and we need to pick our best tools from the lambs we slaughter.' His hand touched Dean's chest, hovered over his heart. 'You're a ripe lamb.' He smiled, eerie, cold, '_Mary had a little lamb, his fleece as white as snow, and everywhere that Mary went, that lamb was sure to go_. You followed her, as I do, as we all do Dean. Every one of my children sings her name; they knew that she will come again, that we will burn the earth with her love.'

'Your Sister Abigail can suck my cock,' Dean growled.

Wyatt's hand moved, gripped a hold of Dean's crotch and squeezed until the pain passed his lips. 'This, this is her love. She taught me Dean, she taught me that love is pain and pain is the only way we can hope to live. She told us that, and I understood. I knew what she was telling me. That pain – pain is redemption, pain is hope, pain is the dead leaves and flies. Your pain, and everything you feel, is the path to freedom Dean. This pain right now, this is the _start_, and she will be the end.'

He let go, and Dean tried to move away from him, but the ropes held him tight.

'Love Dean, it's the beginner of war. I like the thought of war. We'll take back this world,' Wyatt's eyes moved to that bulb, 'we'll be the vultures in the sky and the blood moon as she takes us forward. Hate makes us fight, but love, love makes monsters of us all.'

His lips pressed against Dean's forehead. The door swung open, a hulking silhouette against the light.

'Cut him loose.' Wyatt said with a smile, 'there is work to be done.'

* * *

'You alright big man? Come on, wake up now. Can't be lying around. They'll get you easy if you just lie there.'

Roman didn't move. Everything hurt. Moving was too much effort.

'Or just do what you want. Stay there. It's all fine by me. You know I should probably just leave you for the buzzards to find. They like meat, and you got lots of it.'

Too fucking cold – always so cold; he actually missed the warmth of the arena. The hundreds of bodies crushed together, the adrenaline, it had all served to heat his blood. Then there was the diner, with its little booths and central heating, Renee's warm smile. Where was she now? Was she safe? Of course she wasn't...if she was alive, she wasn't safe. He'd thrown her into the hell they lived with nothing but a candle to guide her. It was irresponsible of him, but he wanted to see her, hear her, just to know that she was still going. That she was coping with what he'd asked of her. And Seth...his brother, the last memory of him was still strong, wrapped up in that holey blanket.

'But then what do I know? Been here long enough. It's important they said, it's for the betterment of mankind they said. You'll be a hero they told me, there'll be a shiny medal on your chest for this one. All you gotta do is hand over your soul to the crazy man in the woods, figure out what's going on, where the people are coming from, are they the ones responsible? All the questions and I was going to be the one with all the answers they said.' The voice snorted, and Roman felt his head being raised and something rolled up and squishy pushed underneath it to support him. 'You know I'm sure I've seen you before. Seen a lot of people, good guys and bad guys over the years. They said I was the greatest once, a superhero because of everything I did. My family, they were so proud.' He had a deep voice, strong. It almost reminded him of his own – was he listening to his subconscious? No, it made no sense. But this was the Wyatt's world. Anything was possible in Cottonwood.

'It's good to have someone to talk to. Been a while.'

There was a crackling sound, a slight warmth, and Roman's eyes opened a little against ashy air, wood smoke crept up his nose.

'Ah so you are awake. Welcome big man.' The voice was a little further away, a little above him. He saw a face he thought he knew. The jaw was familiar, those small eyes. Everything, everything seemed the same as a memory he had, of a man who walked the streets. There were differences, the thick tangled beard, the long dusty brown hair...but he knew that face.

'Easy big man,' hands helped him as he sat up, kept him steady, 'you took a knock. One hell of a knock to the noggin, I've taken a few over my time here, into walls, pots, the well, hell even into a pig, not fun for me or the pig. Rattles you up right? Used to be real sound up in this.' He knocked the side of his head. 'Still pretty solid, but every now and again...it's the Wyatt family, they do that. It's like their music; it makes you stop and listen.' He drifted off for a moment, before he snapped back to earth.

'Where am I?'

'Just told you, the Wyatt family compound. Luke dumped you here and told me to watch you. So I did, because I got fuck all else to do. I'm all out of prayers for today.'

'I know the feeling.' He felt like he'd been hit with a bulldozer. 'Dean...where's Dean?'

'Inside,' the man looked off toward one of the wooden buildings, 'most don't go in. They stay outside in their huts and their shacks and they sit and they pray, they chop wood, they eat, they sing, they pray if they have any words left. Only Bray's children go inside. Your Dean, he must be special.' He paused and scratched his chin, hidden somewhere beneath the beard. 'Dean...know that name, I know that name real well...'

'I need to get him out.' Roman tried to stand but the other man stopped him.

'No can do big man. Rowan and Harper guard that place like dogs. One sniff of you and your head will be on a pretty stick to decorate the fences. No, you're better off out here. Come closer, you're freezing.' He hitched his hands under Roman's arms and dragged him closer to the young fire. He poked sticks into the wood, ripped a piece off his own greasy shirt to add fuel. 'Haven't had no folks join for a while. Most are smart, stay away.'

'Then why are you here?'

The other man looked into the fires rather than him, saw those flames dance, 'I'm just waiting.'

'For what?'

'The right time.'

'To?'

'Well I haven't figured out that bit yet. Ask me a year ago and I would have said to bust them for all the shit and the brainwashing, the torture and the sacrifice, you know like any good citizen would. But there's nothing for me beyond those trees now. They keep me here, I eat, I keep an eye on the kids, I help build huts, there's worse.'

'Like brainwashing, torture and sacrifice?'

'Yeah.'

'Sounds like the first part worked.' Roman grunted. If he had known this man before, he sure as hell wasn't who he used to be. There was a happiness in how he spoke, like he knew what he was saying was horrific, but it had been drilled into his brain that as long as everything was alright for the most part, things were hunky dory. 'You can stay here if you want, I need to get Dean back. Went through too much shit getting him in the first place in Kennedy.'

'You're from Kennedy? I remember Kennedy. Used to clean up the streets. I was good at it, too good. That's why they sent me here. Said I'd done so well that I deserved a challenge.'

Roman faltered. 'You were a cop?'

'I had a badge.' The man continued, as if he hadn't heard. 'Haven't seen it for a long time now. It was real shiny, made me feel important. People knew who I was. They'd say hello, and they trusted me and loved me or hated me and spat at me. Here, here everyone likes me.' He seemed wistful, as if he'd worked his entire life just to be liked and approved of.

'That's great. That's real great. I'm going.' Roman made to stand up once again, only to be butted back to the floor. The man was hulking, a creature of great strength and stature, like he'd been built rather than born.

'Can't go big man, no one leaves here without Bray's say so. And he ain't saying so.'

'I don't give a flying fuck what Wyatt says.'

'You should, he's a man who tells the truth...he sees what we don't, makes you realise the truth about yourself. He saw me, took a long time for me to realize that he was right, that he was the way when the rest of the world turned its back on me. He told me he needed me, to help watch his flock. That I would be his shepherd and I would keep his children safe.'

'You know if you wanted to be accepted in a place like Kennedy you wouldn't have been a cop. It's a suicide note.'

'I do miss that badge though. I felt indestructible wearing it. I used to fight them all you know – all the bad guys when I caught them doing wrong. I even took on the Shield...didn't go so well but I did it. Because they were doing the wrong thing; they didn't even know it. I tried to tell them, tried to show them that the Authority were the big bad, but they didn't listen. They never listened, made me realize that I wasn't cut out for it anymore...that I needed change. I couldn't save them all if I couldn't save three guys from fucking up forever. So I took what the Game gave me and came here. Still here, shoulda been collecting answers and saving lives but Bray's saving souls so what chance do I have?'

_A lone man stood in their way, blocked their exit from their grisly crime. The alleyway was blocked on their end, the only way out through him. His eyes weren't on them, but on the crumpled body on the ground. An Authoritarian skivvy who's big mouth and big ego had threatened the Game's perfect balance. He needed to be taught a lesson, just so he knew that things were how they should be. That any rebellion would cause problems, would threaten Kennedy's new beginning. He was bleeding, but alive, sobbing at their feet, his name tag splattered with his own blood: Brad Maddox. That lone man moved his eyes onto them. _

'_Dean Ambrose, Roman Reigns, Seth Ambrose, you're under arrest for assault and battery.' His voice rebounded off the walls as he showed them his spit cleaned badge through the rain. _

'_Ooo scary,' Dean smirked. 'What you gonna do? Cuff us and stuff us?' he twisted his hands together as if his wrists were bound, 'Wasn't us officer, didn't do a thing officer, can't blame us officer, he made us do it by being a fucking pussy. Couldn't help it officer.' He moved closer, flanked by his brothers as Maddox tried to crawl away. 'We don't answer to you pig,' Dean spat at the other man's feet, but then stopped, licked his own teeth, head rolled and glared. 'I know you. You were there when they pulled Mom out the water. You told me it was going to be Ok. It wasn't. It fucking wasn't, you lied to me. You fucking lied to me!' _

_Dean moved. They didn't stop him._

'You like kids?'

'Always, wish I had my own. Came real close once – there was this one lad...I was still a rookie, went along to the slums cos a kid had rung in about his Mom locked in the bathroom. She'd drowned, he was on his own. Tried to help him, but he was a fucking animal – scared shitless, bit me so hard lost this,' he held up his hand to show he was missing the top of his middle finger, 'must have been fifteen, thought he was a tough nut. I was tougher. Wanted to help him out, said I'd take him in. But they said he'd done it. Never believed it. They took him away...Dean...'

'Dean Ambrose.'

The man stared at him, 'That...yeah...he...'

'Became part of the Shield. He's my brother, and he's inside that place.'

He turned his eyes on the building, unbelieving that the past was repeating itself, that the scruffy fifteen year old he'd tried to save once, had been locked up once again.

'You're Roman Reigns. You kicked my nose in.'

'Sorry about that.'

'Wasn't the first time.'

'Will you help me? Help me get him out of here? Help stop the Wyatts?'

He seemed uncomfortable, the very thought of going against the man who trusted him with his people, the one who'd taken him in, shown him the way when he'd been lost. They were all lost, every single one. The people watched them from the entrances of their huts, the fire flickered against their faces.

'Look, I'm going in with, or without you. You can either stay out of my way, or do your fucking job. You're a cop aren't you? So act like one!' He was up on his feet, realized he'd been dressed in an old vest and shirt to try and protect him from the cold, no doubt given to him by the cop. But he was given no answer. He stood, wavered in the firelight. Roman wasn't going to wait for him. Too many people waited; Daniel Bryan waited with his fucking revolution, this copper waited for a reason. He wasn't having it. Waiting cost lives.

He walked away, toward that building. Sure enough, at its entrance stood the hulking body of a man, with wide eyes, a lantern held high. He didn't leave anything missed, and Roman knew there was no way of getting closer without being seen. He hissed to himself, tried to edge round the sweep of the lantern light, but anytime he got close enough, he had to move back out of range. One small step could be the end of it all – perhaps if he was caught, he'd be taken to where Dean was, but then all attempts of a surprise assault were gone. If Seth had been there, he would have been able to clamber up into one of the windows. The man was the perfect thief, fingers like fucking glue.

The lantern came again, but Roman, too slow, was caught in the headlights.

He shielded his eyes, waited for the attack to come from the man in the door, but it didn't. He heard a strange sound, as if someone were cracking a dozen eggs at once. When he finally looked, finally saw, the man was on the ground, lantern on its side by his head. His eyes were closed, knocked out by the shadow behind. The cop moved into the light once again.

'Officer Cena, reporting for duty.'


	35. Don't Let Go

**((Hi everyone! Sorry about the long delay – my house was without internet until yesterday! I shall endeavour to give you all as much love as I can in the coming week to apologize for leaving you all hanging! Here is a new chapter for you, I hope you enjoy it!))**

**INTERSTATE HIGHWAY 84 / INTERSTATE HIGHWAY 91 **

It was exhausting, all this running. It felt like she hadn't stopped, darting to and from every danger in the world. They were coming from all angles, and the people next to her, who slept with heads together in that back seat, could have been anyone. She'd chosen to trust them because on her own she hadn't a prayer. She'd made a promise to him, to look after Seth. She never broke her word. Had it been because he'd asked her? Had it been because she'd felt she didn't have a choice?

Or was it because he'd looked into her eyes, taken her hand and got under her skin? He'd called her _baby girl_. If she was honest with herself, she'd been lost until the second he'd sat down at that table. She'd never realized until an unwashed barbarian had pulled her out of her mind and into the real world. She'd worked every day; she'd slept at night, filled Lillian's food bowl and her own stomach, and repeated every single day, telling herself that she'd change the next week. She'd done the same damn thing over and over and always thought that eventually things would get better.

It took someone else and his own troubles to knock her sideways and spiralling down the rabbit hole. But this wasn't Wonderland, and she certainly wasn't in Oz or some other world, some fairy tale from which she could pinch herself awake, or knowingly walk a yellow brick road to some pre-determined happy ending.

Lillian was curled up tight in Brie's lap. The other woman hadn't spoken for what felt like hours. Her eyes were caught by the trees rushing past the window. Renee didn't know where she was headed; just followed signs she wasn't reading. It could have been any state, any road to nowhere. She was supposed to be getting away, supposed to be heading in the opposite direction from the horrors. But it bothered her. She hated the very thought of this exile she was being thrown into because evil doers wouldn't stop in their search for the man in the middle of the back seat. Seth's head was tipped to the side, against Dolph's shoulder, his eyes screwed shut in some restless sleep. He was the only real human sound, grunts and whimpers slipping from his dreams and out of his parted lips. Renee had seen enough when she'd found him, but somehow she knew, that it wasn't just the red monster who haunted him. There was far more than that.

'Head to Buchanan,'

Renee blinked and looked to her left. Brie had finally turned her head. Tiredness dropped her eyes and she seemed to be straining to stay awake. But there was determination behind the fatigue, an idea in her eyes.

'What's in Buchanan?' the name was familiar, a dot on a map, miles and miles south of Kennedy and Harrison, but she'd never been there.

Brie fidgeted in her seat, tugged at her belt and lifted and resettled Lillian, who faithful as ever, hadn't closed an eye, chose to stay awake as her mistress did.

'Someone who might be able to help,'

'Might?'

'It's a long shot, it really is...but where else do we go?'

Dolph hadn't exactly been forthcoming with exactly where the resistance members lurked. He'd not even said where he'd be leaving them, just that he couldn't stay for long. However he looked more than comfortable where he sat, head against the window, drool crawled down the glass. Whilst she had to be thankful for his intrusion at her house, he'd not been much help beyond. He'd kept quiet about what he knew, who he worked for...everything. He'd not even given them much of an indication where to go. They could have driven round and round but the truck would run out of gas eventually and what then? Abandon it and hide in the woods?

Renee's eyes flicked to one of the road signs as they passed. Buchanan wasn't even on it.

'You'll have to tell me where to go.'

Brie nodded slowly, her hand moved to the window; finger tip traced patterns only she could see.

'I could find it from anywhere in the world...' she muttered. Perhaps Renee wasn't supposed to hear her. But she knew that feeling; to love and to know a place so strongly that you could be stranded and still follow your feet back. Home was where your heart was – and she could hear it in Brie's voice. For her, Buchanan was home.

The asphalt rolled under their wheels. She almost felt guilty – like she was taking Seth further and further from where he wanted to be, united with his brothers. But this was for his own good, wasn't it? Mick had given his verdict from the back on Seth's injuries – most were cosmetic, but the hand would need to be wrapped properly to enable the bones to set right. Until they'd found somewhere safe though, they couldn't stop. She didn't like that – the horrible feeling that they could be followed, that if they stopped it could be their undoing.

'She's purring,' Brie whispered, her hand rubbed Lillian's head tenderly. 'I always wanted a cat, but we were saving everything we had.'

'Lillian was given to me by my neighbour – she couldn't take care of her so asked if I wanted her.'

'It would have been impossible to say no to this face,' Brie beamed as she made a fuss. Lillian clearly enjoyed the attention, and didn't seem at all bothered by the movement and rumble of the truck. 'How old is she?'

'Fourteen,'

'Old kitty,'

'Yeah, I couldn't be without her though. She's been with me since forever.' Renee shrugged, 'I left home at sixteen, and where I went, she went.' Suddenly, despite everything, she smiled, 'it's strange really, I mean, every job I had, or roof over my head, she found. She'd just wander where she pleased, people took a liking to her, and then to me, and then bam. She's my furry angel.'

'Well she's still with you. Why did you leave so young?'

Renee bit her lip, but didn't answer. There were some things which she needed to keep to herself. Brie seemed to understand and didn't pry further; instead, she rolled down the window. A gust of frozen air bellowed throughout the truck. It licked every patch of skin, and brought goosebumps up under Renee's clothes. She heard mumbles in the back, and eyes looked up to the rear view mirror, and she found herself seeing a head move.

'Hey there sleeping beauty,'

'Where are we?' Seth muttered and adjusted how he sat. He didn't seem best pleased to find himself near tangled with Mick, but the only other option was out in the back and that would have been far worse.

'On course for Buchanan cap'in,' Renee saluted. 'Brie's got a friend there who might be able to help.'

'Well I didn't say friend...' Brie muttered.

'Buchanan?' Seth frowned. 'Nothing there – it's a ghost town.'

Brie tensed, 'Shut your fucking mouth.'

'Guys – please, not now...'

'It's dead. Authority cleared it out years ago; took out the entire Guerrero clan in the process.'

That's why she knew the name. Buchanan was a shanty town, all tin roofs and guns behind doors. It was where people went where there was nowhere else. Where all were accepted, as long as they played by the rules laid down by those who protected them. The Guerrero family was infamous, they fought with blood and sweat against any and all who tried to flatten their home, their spirit. Shawn had told her the story, on one stormy night when custom was non-existent. They'd sat on the counter with mugs of cocoa, and he'd recounted it all.

'Was where the Authority sent all the convicts and unwanted, back when Kennedy was supposed to be all shiny shiny, my step-father was one of them,' Seth continued, but paused to yawn, it was wide and loud, as if he were bored of his own family history. 'He and my mom during the exodus, when the fires started...'

'Not everyone escaped.' Brie's eyes were fixed on the dashboard now. 'My parents...they sent Nikki and I ahead. _Don't let go of each other's hand. No matter what, don't let go._'

Renee remembered how it had felt when Roman had taken her hand; how she'd liked the strength of his fingers, but how gentle it was, how he moulded to her so easily. She'd liked his warmth and tenderness, even as he was trying to con her into his dirty work, and how she'd secretly thought to herself _don't let go_.

Brie turned in her seat to look at Seth. Reflected in the mirror, Renee thought she almost saw some recognition between the two of them, not hate, not loathing, some odd kind of kinship from shared history.

'Your step father latino?'

'Mexican-American – you got some Mexican in you too, hard to miss.'

'Mexican Italian.' Brie corrected, but she nodded.

'Of all the places in the world, after you saw what happened, why on earth would you want to go back to Buchanan?' Seth actually seemed to want to know – there was something genuine in his words, as if finally something had caught his interest. 'The fires destroyed everything, the _pride_ of that town.'

'Not everyone left, and not everyone died. The Authority may have thought they'd wiped out a threat when they killed _los Guerreros_, but some stood and fought. They stayed with the dirt they built their homes on.'

'Brie? Who are we going to see?' Renee interjected. She had to know. The Authority had destroyed Buchanan because they were afraid it was growing too strong. They hadn't openly defied the powers that be, but they could have, that had been enough. If there were people left in that town, they were going to hate anything even slightly associated with the Authority; and that meant Seth, that meant Brie herself. If there was more trouble ahead, she wanted to be ready for it.

'Well...it's a shot in the dark, and I don't even know if...no, no they'll be there. If they're still breathing, they'll be in Buchanan.'

'Brie?'

She swallowed and looked at each and every occupant of the truck in turn, as if silently apologising about what was to come.

'I don't know what they'll be like...they were always...unusual, and after what happened, I doubt they're better...'

'Brie, babe the anticipation is killing me here. These unusual people have names or are we playing the pronoun game?'

'There was a family, born and raised in Buchanan. Legend goes that the patriarch built it with his own two hands. He had sons, two. He died in the fires, but there are stories that his boys are still among the ruins, that they guide you to safety or to death. I played with the youngest when I was little, Cody, he was called back then. But when he grew older, he wanted to be like his big brother, a man who shone like gold.'

'Girl you better not be talking about the Rhodes family...'

'If anyone survived they did Rollins. They'll help us, I know they will.'

'Goldust and Stardust? They're just stories to con Bucha natives into believing that there's something left among the walls. Buchanan burned Brie Bella. All that's left there is dirt and melted tin and dented stars. You're leading us toward nothing. We'd be better off taking our chances staying on the road.'

'This God-forsaken highway is taking us nowhere Rollins! Even if nothing lives there, we can take shelter do _something_ other than run on and on. We're all tired. We're all exhausted. This old machine can't carry on forever. You're sick. You're broken. Your friend's psycho doc needs to look you over and he can hardly do it from the back seat. Even if we're there for a night, it's better than this. Take your chance with nothing Seth Rollins, because nothing is safe.'

Renee didn't say a word. She just kept her eyes on that road, and thought quietly to herself about her little house in Adams, and how it had always seemed so quiet, so safe, so _nothing_.

The exhilaration of this misadventure was overwhelming, but there was something nagging at the back of her mind among the shadows and doubt. She missed nothing. But then she looked at those faces; that Mexican-Italian assassin cuddling her cat, that bi-colour haired mercenary, the indestructible doctor and the mysterious rebel all together, locked on this strange journey. And there, caught in her memories, were those eyes, those words and the face of a man she felt the urge to punch and kiss all at once.

'We go to Buchanan.' She'd called it, but what was waiting for them?


	36. The Eater Of Worlds

**((Back to the Wyatt Lot for this chapter! Thank you everyone for your continued support and I really hope that you enjoy what is to come! I apologize for not being able to update as regularly as I'd like, work is work and work pays bills! But forget the bills, please let me know what you think of this chapter!))**

**COTTONWOOD, WYATT FAMILY LOT**

A different room but the same sweet smell of that wood smoke; it poured through the holes in the walls and through gaps in the ceiling. Every room was a compartment, different pieces of the brain; it was where Wyatt harvested his children. The special ones were kept and used over and over until all they could think was _obey_. Long ago; Dean had hazy memory of getting lost in Cottonwood, of a light guiding him home, a gentle hand on his shoulder, a woman's voice pushing him on, taking him forward.

_We'll meet again one day Dean._

How she died Wyatt had never told him. The buzzards had taken every piece of skin from her bones, left them so he could play the witch doctor, so he could build her a shrine, so that he could promise her remains that he would rebuild her. The monster would make his creator whole once again, but only the tainted were strong enough in his eyes. His head and his eyes would twitch, his tongue would gargle and twist as the voices told him yes, yes this was what needed to be done. Dean had seen these faces before, he'd heard their words. It could be anything, could mean anything – but like all the evils in the world, he understood. Somehow, he always had, even as a child.

When his mom had drowned herself, he'd stood at the tubs side and said goodbye. Because whilst he hated her for leaving him, for all the terrible things she'd said and done to him, he got it. She didn't want to live in their crap apartment. She didn't want to do her shitty job. She didn't want a stinking brat for a kid. So she went away, and didn't come back. He got it. He really fucking did. The darkness and the cruelty of every single particle, of every black heart, it was understood.

They strung his arms up high, up above his head; every single noise was too loud. He could feel their drugs in his system, their own kind of special K, but nothing sweet about this low. It drove through his head, as if someone had taken a drill to his skull. His head rolled and through the sweat he could see Wyatt. He moved as a blur, his colors drifted across the room before falling into themselves again. But there was more, behind him, an alter of candles, each painstakingly lit. He could just make out what lay there, through the haze; a body, surrounded by things dried.

He knew; he didn't have to be able to see her, to know.

'AJ?' his tongue felt fat in his mouth.

Wyatt hovered in front of him, turned to look over his shoulder at the young woman's body. 'She's perfect, Dean,' the glee in his voice was unmistakable, 'and soon, soon she'll be complete. I have the pieces I need. We were so careful, we only used the very best. I took my time. She always told me to be patient,' he moved too fast for his size, his hands on either side of Dean's head, his nails dug into skin and hair, 'and I have been patient Dean. I waited, waited for them to come to me. Oh and they came, they all came one by one and two by two and they laid themselves down,' He ran his hand across Dean's sweating forehead, 'just like you did. You knew Dean; you knew this would happen if you returned to Cottonwood. You couldn't ignore her could you? In here?' a finger tapped against the temple. 'Because once you feel her love, she takes your mind.'

'Wyatt,' it sounded strange in his mouth, 'Wyatt...stop this.'

Wyatt threw back his head, his hair like weed roots and he laughed. 'Stop? Stop? Dean how can I stop?' he spread his arms out toward the alter, 'See how far we've come? Soon it'll all be nothing but dust, and this will be our new world, and she,' he turned, stroked AJ's pale cheek, 'she will take us into the new dawn. Can't you see it Dean? Can't you see the flames kiss the sky? Can you smell it all burn?'

Dean jerked his head away. He forced himself to blink awake. He strained his arms as Wyatt watched his struggles. But this wasn't about breaking free, not yet. It was about waking up; it was about getting his body back. God knew it had belonged to others for too long. The wool of his throat was met with the brick in his brain and the lead in his limbs. But under the dirt, he was alive, and he was breathing. Those glassy eyes watched, saw Wyatt.

'Now...at last...we have the heart, the brain that will complete her.'

He called himself _The Eater Of Worlds_, and played his wicked games for his own amusement, because that was what he knew. The world was ablaze in his eyes, and the only way to save it was to consume it whole. He had a tongue which could turn your brain round his finger, and even the smart, even the brave could be lost in his dimension. But he'd not conquered Dean – perhaps that was why he was intrigued by him – two men so alike with such different ideas. Perhaps if they had met before the Shield, before Seth had pulled him from the white walls of the asylum, they would be brethren instead, locked in maddened stare and unquenchable blood lust.

Rowan lurked in the off light, the cruel grin of a knife in his hand. There was only one use for a blade in Wyatt's Lot. The scars across Dean's stomach knew the thirst. Wyatt snatched it from his follower's hand and held it up to the lantern light, turned it over in all manner of ways so that he could appreciate and match it's smile.

'There is something beautiful about life Dean, how easily it's decided; how we can change it ourselves when what the gods choose isn't good enough. This is what we choose Dean, this is what _she_ chose.'

He moved forward, purpose in those black eyes.

It would have been so easy to be afraid. Fear was greater than any drug; addictive and paralytic, it sank in through every pore and it froze the blood and the muscle.

The only fear Dean Ambrose had ever known, was how much he loved his brothers. It terrified him that two humans could mean so much, could creep into his every thought. He'd never wanted it – had resigned himself to the streets and the lost children when he broke through that locked door and found his mom belly up. He'd never thought he could be fixed – wouldn't let anyone close enough to try. AJ fought through to him, she held him up on some golden pedestal because he mattered to her. It was what she did, and the words she said, that taught him that it was possible to love, to care, when you were cracked. The tainted were not celebrated, just knocked aside into the dirt and the ditches. The idea of losing them would have been enough to kill him; and to give them a blast at life was his dying wish.

But a lunatic with a knife, that was nothing to fear.

It was a challenge.

'Try it,' Dean urged, he licked his dry lips, his eyes slowly adjusting, 'try _me_ on for size Wyatt.' His voice seemed stronger with every word, 'you never came too close, touched only when I couldn't hit back, hung me up to dry, took what was mine, all with that special K inside. I'm here Wyatt, I'm awake, and as long as I'm breathing, you're not getting the fucking satisfaction of hurting me again.'

For a moment, the fat man faltered, but that grin did not – stapled to his fucking face. Those eyes could see a billion universes, but didn't recognize what was there with him in that room. He called Dean _the Greatest Demon of Them all_.

He didn't know that he was right.

* * *

'So I said to him, it's not my goat, what do you want me to do about it?'

Roman had to remind himself for the hundredth time of why he'd brought along the cop. He didn't shut up, but he was a barrel of power waiting for a reason to explode. If he could be thrown in the right direction, it could make finding Dean easier. The house of Wyatt was massive. Endless wooden corridors had dozens of doors and staircases. Some lead to nowhere. Doors didn't open. Stairs were fragile as wheat. Wyatt clearly didn't want to be found in his trick house.

'That's great Cena, real great...' he muttered. The cop didn't even seem to hear the sarcasm.

'Well in the end it was all solved, I used great American reasoning on him.'

He was given a grunt in response, and followed down the hollow corridors with no evident fear or even recognition of how dangerous the situation was. He knew what Wyatt was capable of, but hadn't seen it or experienced it firsthand. Roman knew. He'd dragged its bleeding carcass from Cottonwood. Back then, the Wyatt Lot had been far smaller, this building not even plotted in stones.

'I threatened to break his kneecaps and feed them to his wife.'

'Doesn't sound like the sort of language a cop would use,' Especially this one – even in his vagueness he almost seemed gentle. But Roman wasn't fooled; he'd seen many a man pushed too hard snap. It would only be time until Cena unfolded and the exterior broke. He'd been made meek and mild by Wyatt's own breed of chaotic madness.

'It worked though, he backed off and the goat was set free to return to his original owner. Shame really, I liked him, he had these eyes, you know? Determined little bastard, still, I'm sure his wife would have been glad to have him back.'

Perhaps if he'd actually been listening, Roman would have stopped to question him, but his attentions were elsewhere, his ears tuned to try and locate Dean. If it had been torture he wouldn't have been quite as worried as he was. Dean could take all manner of pain. His brother was fragile from what had happened, confused still, impulsive. It made him dangerous and prone to mistakes. Wyatt had always had plans for Dean. Cottonwood held bad memories and promise of worst to come. His rough hand trailed along the wood, and he stopped, eyes narrow as instinct caught a hold.

'Stop,' his arm shot out to block off Cena who nearly went straight through.

'What's wrong big man?'

He couldn't rightly answer. If there was anything that he'd learned over the years, it was trust your gut. It had saved them all more times than could be counted on their fingers.

There – at the end of the corridor, a hulking figure in a greased green boiler suit moved from the wall. It turned its head, masked. The lamb stared, silent. Roman was still, knees bent, body ready to pounce. He could feel the tension as their eyes locked. The man was massive, bigger than him by a head, with too pale skin and a tangled forest of a beard burst from the mask. But the _silence_...he could have called for help, could have yelled intruder, but nothing.

He raised his own hand to his head, started to bash it.

'_Obey, obey, obey_,'

He charged.

Roman made to move, but found a great hand on his shoulder. Cena shoved him out of the way as if here made of salt. The giant ploughed straight into the former Kennedy cop, and Cena caught his arms, his shoulder and with his whole body weight pushed back. A grunt of effort snorted through his nose, sweat on his brow. Roman jerked forward but Cena motioned ahead.

'Go! Go!'

He didn't need telling twice. Caution no longer mattered. He didn't even hear his own feet. Perhaps it was something in his head, a tracking beacon that sounded out, brought everything to him, a brotherhood which was derived from everything – a love that couldn't be drowned it. Dean was alive, he was close. He could feel it. Their existence was a battle, a war that never fucking ended and he was beginning to forget what it felt like to walk. Behind him he heard as someone was thrown into a wall, as the two behemoths battled for supremacy.

'Dean!'

His own voice seemed to come back at him from every wall, every corner, every false lead. He turned the corner from which the giant had come. There – at its end, a door ajar, a glow of light throbbing through the gap like some ghastly heart.

Slowly, so slowly, he advanced, feet as light as he could, body tense. He didn't know what he'd find; he had to be prepared for what was waiting. Wyatt was beyond mad, he thought himself the twisted messiah of a new world that he wanted to build from bones. There was no coming apocalypse. There was only the life they made in the shit that was handed to them. People dreamed of better days when they should have counted the minutes they had left and made them count. Roman's every heart beat was for the seconds he could still see, they hammered so loud they called out.

'_He's got the whole world, in his hands. He's got the whole wide world, in his hands._'

He pushed the door open.

Blood, so much fucking blood; it stained the floor, the walls.

'Dean?'

Two loose ropes, torn hung from the ceiling and moved on the ever constant breeze that eased through the cracks in the walls. Candle light alone illuminated an eerie glow and at its center it sickened him to see her. AJ seemed as if she were sleeping; her dreams had flown far away now. Dean had buried her. Only the sick would disturb her resting place. Around her were flesh and hair and teeth and bone and organ, positioned to where they would be placed. Two kidneys, one old, one fairly knew lay upon her scrubs. He knew one.

'_He's got the whole world, in his hands. He's got the whole wide world, in his hands._'

'Dean?' Roman's voice was soft.

There. The source of the blood, was Dean. It stained his hands and his scrubs. His wrists were raw from being bound, eyes saw nothing beyond what was sat in his hand. It was fat and black, stuffed with fat, and the blood ran from it as if trying to escape. The unmoving body on the floor stared up at the ceiling with cosmic eyes and a smile that seemed too happy.

'Dean?'

He was slumped against the wall, the heart drip, dripped to the floor. He finally looked up, but didn't even seem to see Roman. He could have been anyone in the world for those eternal seconds. But then recognition flashed.

'Do you think there's a hell Rome?'

'I don't know Dean.'

'Hell is where you go when you die, if you commit crimes and if you're a bad boy.' He grinned, showed far too many teeth. 'I ain't dead yet and I've been really fucking bad, wonder if the devil'll gimme his right hand to lounge in. Or is this hell? I think I recognize it. One to another. Must be dead – from a box to a cult to this,' he held up the heart, inspected it slowly, 'took it from him Rome. Had to. He wasn't using it. Seemed a terrible fucking waste.' He cocked his head, 'think my heart looks like this Rome?'

'No.'

'He was going to use a knife on me Rome. Couldn't let that happen. Not again. Too many sharp things seen this skin now. Had enough of that shit. Called me things again...said I was a demon. You know I would have believed him, think I did. But right now?' he shook his head. 'See Rome...demons...they can't love. They can't understand it. Wyatt? He thought he could – thought he loved so much that he could save the world. No. He felt nothing. I know. I can feel it. I can fucking _taste_ it.'

Without warning, Dean brought the heart to his mouth, tore a chunk out with his teeth and chewed.

'There's nothing here Rome.' He said between bites and swallowed. He knocked a fist against his own heart. 'But in here...I get it now. I'm not a demon Rome. I'm you. I'm Seth. That's all I am and everything Dean Ambrose ever will be. Love – love is fucking dangerous – more dangerous than a mad man with a straw hat and a sharp knife. Love is home. I want to go home Rome. I want you. I want Seth.' He threw the heart aside in disgust. It hit the floor, bounced, and landed beside Wyatt. 'We were never good men. But we're good together.'

It should have scared Roman had calm he felt. The scene in front of him, in the low light, it was the stuff of nightmares. But there in the middle of it all was Dean. Perhaps he should have been afraid. But the Dean from before, the one in Cottonwood, in the asylum, he was what had terrified him. Covered in blood, with the remains of heart on his tongue, was the true soul as the core. He was the human race, the animal backed into the corner. Dean Ambrose had woken up.

'We'll find him Dean. I promise that. Spent too long trying to find you in the fucking first place to not. He's safe, he's with a friend.'

'Hmm a friend...I know friends. Is she pretty?'

'...Yes. Yes she is.'

He was too smart, saw too much. Dean knew things; the truth people searched their entire lives for was laid out in front of him without effort. The human was just another animal to consume. His head lolled back against the wall as he processed the thought.

'We'll keep her.'

It was all the approval he'd ever get for a companion. Dean was a jealous man. He kept what he wanted close and didn't like to share. Slowly he got up, rubbed his hands on his scrubs. As he did, a shadow fell over them both, lamb faced. Roman jumped forward, turned ready to fight.

A low chuckle escaped and a hand reached up and slid the mask onto the top of his head.

'You shoulda seen your faces.'

'Damn it Cena.'

'Bit of a mess in here.' He leaned in to get a closer look and peered round. When he saw Wyatt's corpse, he shrugged. 'Oh well, guess that's case closed.' But then he saw Dean. For a moment there was nothing. Then, the slow glimmer of recognition flashed in his head, Dean too, curious seemed to know him.

'Ambrose. Dean fucking Ambrose,'

'John fucking Cena.'

For a moment, Roman was certain he was going to have to throw the two of them apart. But then, Dean nodded. The action was repeated by Cena. Words couldn't express what it meant. Mutual respect. Dean looked over to AJ.

'We put my girl at rest, for good this time. Then, then we find our brother.'

'Can I come?' Cena raised his hand. It smacked against the ceiling but he didn't seem to notice. 'Got nothing else to do now Ambrose closed my case, could use some change, that's for sure.'

'We travel alone.'

'I got great travel stories.'

Dean sniffed and wiped blood from his mouth, eyed the giant suspiciously. 'What kind of stories?'

'Well there's this awesome one about this goat...'

'We keep him too.'

Roman closed his eyes. _Here we go_...


	37. Anything Except Misery

**((I'm once again, very sorry for not updating recently! Lots of work, but rest assured, when I have the time, I will always update. I'm not leaving these stories alone! I hope you enjoy this chapter!))**

**LAST RIDE HIGHWAY**

It had been a difficult decision for her, to surrender control, to hand over the wheel and let someone take them forward. He'd seen it in her eyes, the struggle to relinquish their journey, their destination to someone else. She'd been the one to carry them as far as she had. He saw her strength, but also her exhaustion. It was a different way of viewing the world, from the backseat.

When they'd escaped from Kennedy, he'd been in that passenger seat, arms strapped down by the belt so he couldn't bolt, run back on foot to drag Dean kicking and screaming with them. He could still see it; hear the echo in his mind as gun shots splintered through his brother. It had come from nowhere. Dean had forced them to go. He knew that alone he could survive; he could find a way to pick out the bullets and bring feeling back to his legs. He could hide with the rats and keep himself out of sight. Together they were difficult to cover. So they had to run.

He knew that.

But the guilt – it rotted his gut as heavy as it had when he'd left them before. It cut too deep to know that together they were complete, but apart...they were safer. The two men next to him were not his brothers. A rebel and a medic; it was not the company he would have chosen. He wanted a gladiator and a backstreet brawler. He wanted his body mended. He knew that was the purpose of this Mick Foley. Oh, he knew the name, had heard it muttered a hundred times by Dean. This man who had once been a legend on the streets had been locked in a box. But he was trusted. But this...Dolph...whilst he had to be at least a little thankful for his intrusion earlier, there was something he didn't like.

He didn't like people. Never had, they bent too easily. Iron was forged in the hearts of the lowest and the true. He knew men. He knew women. This blond thing to his side...even how he breathed felt wrong, hitched in his throat, as if he didn't sleep, but lurked on the edge of consciousness. Perhaps he shouldn't have judged.

He hadn't slept for years.

Seth felt weak, frail without his brothers. It was a curious thing – he'd never quite realized just how he needed their support. When they were with him, he felt untouchable, a strength which could never quite be described. It wasn't just his body Kane had damaged; his mocking words had scraped his ego and his pride. _Kane_. The thought alone was a cruel one, it dug straight into his gut and reminded him that the monster was still out there, following. The enemies they'd left behind in Kennedy were escaping its walls and falling out into the world. The Game himself no doubt would soon leave the city's safety.

But he wasn't alone. Renee slept in that passenger seat he'd once inhabited; quiet, but uneasy. Her head moved constantly, body uncomfortable. It was a clear sign that she was already changing, adapting to the fugitive life. In a second, he knew she could wake and run if she had to.

He had to hand it to Roman, he'd chosen well.

Few would have been as strong, as faithful as she had. It would be a shame to leave her behind when they were all reunited. But she was a means to an obvious end. She was survival. And as he watched her reflection in the mirror through his weary eyes, he knew he'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't like her. She had fire. He could see her arms wrapped around that precious cat of hers. On her hands, wrapped round tight, never leaving, were those _Dirty Deeds_. Dean would have been appalled at the mere thought of someone wearing his beloved gloves. He'd been atom bonded to those fibres, and it was when they were removed that people truly had to fear him. Renee was becoming reliant on them to protect her, whereas Dean had used them to hold him back...

There, in the driver's seat, vision glued to the rolling asphalt, a lone Bella drove. Her fingers curled round that wheel so tight she looked as if she might pull it from the dash. Perhaps, out of it all, she was what he feared most. Her story and hatred were built deep in heavy foundation. He deserved her loathing. But she'd bonded with Renee it seemed, and if the time came when Brie was a danger to him once again, and he would have to move against her, he knew it would not be taken well.

Brie watched him in that mirror. Her eyes were clouded, difficult to read.

'Like what you see Bella?'

'Got to hell,' she growled, eyes flicked to Renee and then back to Seth, 'Why is _she_ helping you Rollins? She's too good, too kind – she doesn't belong with wolves like you. What could you have possibly done to deserve this chance she's given you?' she took a deep breath and she shook her head, 'I don't understand you. I don't see what this _power_ is that you hold over people. You can't offer her anything except misery.'

Oh, sweet Renee. She didn't know what she was doing, it was true. Just by being involved with them, she was changing everything. Every pre-determined ending was being re-written. Without her, the death of Seth Rollins had been stamped. She'd erased all of that. These people – none of them would have surrounded him if not for her. Roman, somehow, in a moment of confusion, or madness, had brought this woman into their lives. And she'd saved them all.

'She came when I needed her, helped without being asked. She is a good woman, for better than anyone else in this tin box.'

His voice was still strained, but louder than before. Maybe he was getting better.

'I was a good person once.' Brie muttered, seemingly to herself more than him.

To his side, Mick grunted loudly and turned, his head crushed him against the window. You could see where a chunk of ear was missing, pieces of her, teeth from his open mouth. The same old stories applied to them all – they were damaged goods.

'We all were.'

'You and your _brothers_,' she almost spat the word, 'are to blame for what happened to me. I never hurt anyone until you took my husband away from me. You broke me, destroyed my entire world. I had nothing left but pain, and was willing to do anything to get rid of it. Even pass it on to others.'

'How many?'

She wouldn't look at him. Her lips seemed stapled shut, unwilling to reveal the true extent of the agony she'd both suffered and caused.

'Two.' He only just heard her. 'Killing was always Nikki's thing. Even since our parents died in the fires...at first it was violence; she'd carry a switchblade, get into fights for the hell of it, and come crawling to me when she was beaten up. Eventually, she came and told me she'd killed someone, a homeless man..._God_ she didn't even know his name. She told me it made her feel alive. She started taking contracts after that. I met Daniel...I wanted nothing to do with it. But then she fell in love...a cop of all things. He'd tried to arrest her, she'd evaded him, cat and mouse started...she said she'd give it all up, for him. But then he disappeared.

She fell in deeper, took a contract from the Game to take out two sons of the old Authority. They heard and decided to take her out first. They found me instead.'

Seth closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. It was old; the padding crumbled out of holes in the fabric. It offered no comfort, no support, could barely hold the weight of his head. It surprised him how little he wanted to know of her. How just hearing what had happened in the aftermath of killing Bryan, how she'd fallen so far.

'That razor you carry – it was Bryan's.'

'Supposed to be his birthday gift – stayed in the box it was bought in until they came. It slit their throats rather than shaved his. What use is a razor to a dead man? I cleaned away the blood, swore to his soul I would never kill again. I _promised_ him, Rollins, that I would never take another life. He was a good man, I felt like I'd tainted his memory.'

'Even mine?'

She seemed to be practicing some intense form of self-control and he could hear her counting to ten as slowly as she could. It must have hurt – telling the man who killed your husband your life story. She hated him, he could feel it radiate through her skin through to his own. She wished this illness deep into his bones, wanted him to feel the pain she suffered.

'I wanted to. Nikki found me first, when I realized that Daniel wasn't coming home. I've not been separated from this blade since I first killed Rollins, and she knew what I wanted. She convinced me to follow her...that she would be an eventuality. When we were told about the bounty on you three, I felt I'd been handed my chance. But when we found you...I told her we'd drag you to the Game instead, because finally faced with the opportunity to kill you Rollins, I couldn't do it.'

She almost sounded ashamed. But her words resonated.

'I couldn't break my promise, it felt like I owed him to keep it.'

He could remember. Death was never a new game to him, his eyes had seen too many bodies to be surprised by it. But the first time he'd dealt it had been a shock; killed to protect someone else. A man he'd never met, a name he'd never known. He still didn't know, quite why he'd done it.

_Like all Kennedy nights, the rain hit hard. It misted the sky, too wet for the low street light. The world was heavy, drooped the shoulders of every fool stupid enough to walk the dark. Too cold for the skin. He'd only been out of shelter for a minute or two, and already he was soaked through. His bones felt damp, sluggish, and he trudged because he couldn't lift his legs to walk. Hands hid deep into his pockets and his head low, tried not to meet car headlight or street lamp; didn't want attention, had placed to be, no time to stop. Onward, half drowned through the downward spiral._

_Didn't want to stand out, eyes glued to the puddled sidewalk. Shadows were his friends, he didn't; take the eyes which followed from every alley mouth. There was no discrimination in the Kennedy slums. All were easy prey. Every man a victim; you'd sooner see the flash of a blade than of a smile. He'd learned young to be quick, to be a smart little fucker, ahead of the start. There were some real shiny things hidden behind boarded windows and bricked up doors. _

_Sounds, scuffles in the dark. Instinct told him to carry on, but frozen from cold, he stood, dripped, head turned in the half light toward that noise. Eyes didn't want to look, tried to lock on that broken pathway, but he couldn't stop himself. Quiet, the lip of that stiletto blade down the sleeve to his gloved hand, he turned his narrow body to that wall. Ahead, hung under the dark was an young and old. Old bleeding from the chest, and young laughed. _

_He'd never handed out death before, his blade was a tool of the trade, a deterrent. _

_A lucky throat shot. He gargled and bled out and slipped down into the squalor and the rain. He coughed and he struggled and last sight was the unsure face of a young thief. The old man was already dead, and he'd killed for nothing. Blood on his hands, for nothing._

_It gave him emptiness. No fear of what he could do. Death was a frailty – everyone died, no matter how they tried to avoid it. From that alleyway, he found a cold jail cell for his sticky fingers and clever throwing hand. He'd killed an arsehole who'd caused important men problems. There were more like the dead man in the alleyway, men who liked to break the system._

_He became the answer to the problem. All he needed, were men he could trust..._

'Rollins?'

He glanced at her, realized how far he'd drifted away. 'Bella?'

'Do something for me.'

'What?'

'I don't know what this is about, why things have changed the way they have, or where we'll be at the end of this shit storm. But promise me, that no matter what happens to you, you'll protect her. Because you're right – she's the only good thing in this truck, and that's enough for me. This might have started out about you – but this is about her.'

Renee Young – how she'd shaken worlds.

'Only so much I can do as I am.'

'Rollins -,'

'I will, dammit I will, but there's something you need to understand Brie Bella. Something I think you don't realize. You're a part of us now. This _Shield_ has broken but we're all fragments and now you're part of that very unit. Hate me all you want, but this is not three men anymore. This is everything.'

'Pretentious fuck.'

'Get used to it.'

She actually smirked a little at that. Her hair was twisted up into a knot, something he'd not noticed. Renee looked strange but almost sweet with her too-short hair. Dolph was blond until the roots. Mick's own hair was a nest. His own? A combination of them all. They were all incredibly different people. But they'd come together to form this collection of misfits.

And of all of them, the man to his side, head now against the glass, eyes closed with his weird breathing, he didn't know. Brie seemed to catch his confused look, and as if to cement the fact that his worries were warranted, she gave him a slow nod. Criminals alone, knew to be on edge. The silence that descended between them was hounded by the grumble of the truck, it had been tested and turned and forced to do so much, it was holding out. The cruel storms of the previous night had given way to a wind that somehow found its way into the truck, caused his body to shiver, teeth to clench. Too sick for it, too sick of it.

Ahead, Buchanan waited, but he was afraid of what lurked in the burned out shantytown. Too many people had lived and died there. He'd been told stories of the Rhodes brothers. Two men who stuck to their roots and ashes, and never left each other's sides. He was jealous of them. Seth Rollins was a selfish fucking bastard. Dean Ambrose was a jealous fuck. Roman Reigns was a self-righteous arse. But they were brothers. He missed them, felt that emptiness more than ever.

'Rollins?'

She'd lost a sister – had driven her away by turning from the violence. A hand drifted between the gap in the seats toward him, feminine, almost gentle. Unsure, he reached out, fingers scraped the skin and she caught him, held his hand.

'You're not alone.'

His silence seemed enough for her, and she made to let go, but he wouldn't let her. He clung on to what she said, to what she did for him. A reassurance from this woman who loathed him, who rightfully should have killed him; it was everything.

'You're a fucked up shithead, who deserves nothing, but...I can't hate you. I'm tired of it. I may not be a good person, Seth Rollins, but you're right. I guess it takes losing everything to realize just what's standing next to you. And right now, it's you, it's Renee. I'm not alone, and neither are you. We don't have what we want, but we have what we need. God gave us hearts to love, not to hate. You're a long way from my love Rollins. But, I forgive you for what you did, for who you are.'

Her fingers squeezed his tightly before she let go, hands back to that steering wheel. Seth's eyes moved to the window, past Mick's crazed hair, and he looked to that cruel horizon, that future he couldn't predict but wanted to change. The slither of dawn licked the darkness of night. Day was coming – he'd missed the light.


	38. Missed You Too

**((Thank you for your patience everyone! Here is the newest chapter for you : ) please enjoy and let me know what you think!))**

**COTTONWOOD**

'So I said to him, it's not my goat, what do you want me to do about it?'

Dean's raccous laughter could have been annoying to some. But for Roman? It was better than gold. For as long as he could remember, Dean's laugh had been limited to his episodes of psychosis. It had been high, terrifying. But this? It was oddly comforting. It was obnoxious. It was nasty, a filthy laugh – but it was fucking beautiful. It was real, it was true, and Dean actually slapped the former cop on the shoulder. The man didn't even flinch, but his simple smile was pretty much tattooed onto Cena's massive mug. The two of them clearly had an odd affection for each other from all those years before. Dean had a habit of picking up strays as Roman did pretty women.

'What happened Cena? What happened to that ol' goat?'

'Well after I took him to a medic, I was told he'd have to be put down. Later? Went to pick up the body – wanted to give him a better burial than the hole he'd been dumped in, ya know? Time I got there, he'd gone!'

'Just got up and walked off?'

'Got up and walked on off. Broken neck and all.'

'He's looking good for it.' Roman muttered, more to himself than to the others. Dean had barely registered Bryan's existence when they'd met again, too devastated by AJ. Poor AJ buried in Cottonwood, back in her patch of starlight, weighed down with rocks so that none might try and use her again. Wyatt? Left to rot in the house he'd built. Harper and Rowan could mourn him. But would they? Would anyone mourn a mad man?

Roman couldn't help but throw a side glance to Dean who clearly was still enjoying himself. His smile could have been adorable in a childlike way, it always reached his eyes. The murderous creature he'd found hidden by shadow, chewing a dead man's heart was gone. He'd been pushed too far. Now? Walking through the trees with the cold scratching their skin, he seemed content. At least for now. Roman however was less calm. The addition of Cena to their party didn't comfort him – he may have found Dean but Seth was out there. Renee too. Had they collected their wits? Were they even still alive.

'Cena? You have a phone?'

To his complete surprise, his question was answered with electric light appearing from the dungaree clad man's pocket.

'You have this why?'

'Tetris.' Cena admitted with a shrug of his bulky shoulders, 'Sitting around tending fires can get dull.'

The battery was near non-existent, signal not much better. Technology was Seth's area, but he knew well enough what he was doing as he padded in the number he'd committed to memory. He held it up to the sky, eyes squinted against its light as he tried to find some traces of signal.

'Big Dog trying to make a call?' Dean asked and then, without another word, he grabbed the phone from Roman's hand, and clambered up onto his friend, stepped on his hip, his arm to sit on his shoulders, tried to get it even higher. 'This is shit.'

'Dean get off!' Roman tried to heave him down, but Dean was relentless, dodged his grabbing hands and somehow managed to maintain balance enough to cling on. Cena seemed to find the whole thing rather entertaining, and from his height, snatched the phone from Dean and pushed the dial button.

'That help?'

Roman dumped Dean unceremoniously on the floor and grunted, took the devise and pressed it to his ear.

'_Hello?'_

An odd feeling rose inside him, some great relief. 'Renee? It's Roman.'

'_Roman!'_ she sounded tired but there was no disguising how pleased she seemed. '_Are you alright? Mick told us what happened! Did you find your friend? I have Seth here, it's so good to hear from you!'_

He couldn't suppress the chuckle. 'Cold, damaged, but alive – Dean's with me. We're alright Renee, we're all alright.'

The sound was horrendous, it crackled and the volume fluctuated, but he could hear her. He could hear that voice and could picture her face and it made him feel something. Something inside his gut that clenched, but not in sadness, in some peculiar, pleasant sensation. Like his wounds had all healed at once.

'_Oh Roman..._' she didn't seem to know what to say to him. Just to have her on the line was more than enough – she was alright. She was still alive. '_I've been so worried._'

'Save your worry for yourself baby girl.'

'_The things that have happened Roman, but what does it matter? Do you want to talk to Seth?'_

'Yes.'

'Yes!' Dean abruptly yelled. His hearing was very acute, and it didn't surprise Roman one bit that he could hear it all from where he stood. But he was right next to him, hand grabbed the mobile and pulled it between them so they could both hear, could both talk to their missing brother.

'_Roman?_'

Oh that voice. Seth sounded shaken, but almost stronger through the static of the bad signal. He was still going, still ticking despite the sickness.

'Seth!' Dean near pulled the phone from Roman but his grip was far too strong.

'_Dean? Dean!'_

'You stupid motherfucker what you go and get yourself sick for eh? Just wanted the bloody attention didn't ya? Well if you wanted me to stop by all you had to do was ask, not contract some deathly death of diseases! Dammit Rollins, I left my nurses outfit back in the crazy house. It blew up. I'm sorry. No Dean nurse for you. And I bet you were excited for that weren't you? Fuck it man...'

You could almost hear Seth's smile on the other side of the line.

'_Missed you too big brother_.'

'How you doing?' it was such a simple question. It was one they never asked each other. They always assumed they could walk until one fell down, then they'd carry one another. Words didn't become them – but Seth was out of sight, and it was a question that burned inside them both, the need to know that the youngest of them, was alright. It was almost easy to forget that Seth was the baby of the group – he had more brains than Dean and Roman put together, he'd been the one to betray them for his own vanity. But then...at the end of it all, he was Seth.

'_Been better, met an old friend with a fiery temper. You chose well Roman, this girl of yours, she broke his nose.'_

Roman couldn't help the swell of pride.

'_Mick found me Dean. When we stop he's going to try and help me. We've got some tagalongs too. By the name of miss Brie Bella. And a fella named Dolph._'

He didn't need to add anything to the sentence. Brie Bella – that was worry enough, but worry for later. But you could hear the concern he had with this 'Dolph'. This was something to look into. Their resources were limited however, to a dying phone, several dead trees, and their three bodies which could soon be deceased if they didn't start moving again.

'Where are you heading?'

'_Buchanan.'_

Long way – safe from Authority touch, supposedly. After all, what would they want with a burned out shantytown? It would be a good place for them to lay low. But it was a distance for them to cover that would take weeks on foot the condition they were in. They needed wheels, fast ones. The delay caused by wandering into Cottonwood would mean the roads would be covered by Authority eyes. What had happened in the pits would mean worse than death if they were caught. Mad men would want to rip their skin from their faces, and above all the Game, with a viper and an animal at his heels, would want to remind them of who he was. What they'd done.

Had their crimes been so great against him that the hounds would be followed forever? He could easily see in his mind's eye what lay hidden in Harrison.

'Seth? Is it safe?'

'_...I should think so.'_

He had it with him. Roman didn't know how, but he couldn't help but curse Seth's sticky fingers. He couldn't let things lie. He'd never been able to resist the thrill of holding what was supposed to be hidden.

'Seth -,'

'Ditch it.' Dean finished. Roman turned and stared at his brother, who promptly ignored him. 'It's not worth it anymore. Hide it in Buchanan, something, anything. We'll find you and bury it forever, the three of us.'

There was no response from Seth. The phone died there in their hands.

Cena, who'd been respectfully quiet during the whole exchange somehow managed to pry it from their fingers, and tapped the screen idly. When it was clear it wasn't coming back, he shoved it back into his deep pocket and patted them both on the shoulders as they stared into the vacuous space where their brother's voice had been.

'Well, if you boys want to get to Buchanan you'd better have some plan short of me carrying you there. Because ain't no way you're going to make it on foot.'

'Kennedy. Get us back into Kennedy. I know someone. They can help get us some wheels.' Dean said with a strong nod.

'Dean we only just fucking left there. Do you know what's waiting if we go back?'

But there was the smile he thought had gone. That cruel sickle that forever reminded him of the shades of Dean Ambrose. They cut through each other, sliced so fast and hard you never knew who you had. This was the smile that had ripped out a man's heart.

'Oh I know, and that's the fun of it. You may have made your friends in the sewers Roman. But I know my fair share of rats on the surface.'

'I can't protect you in Kennedy. As soon as I step back into that city, I'm a cop once again.' Cena warned. 'I will try and stop you.'

'Who's side are you on Cena?'

He puffed out his chest proudly. 'I gave my pledge, my heart body and soul to the law. I did what they asked of me. Kennedy is the city that made me and I shall protect her.'

'Even though the people at her head are corrupt bastards who want to lower the people into early graves and despise those with good intentions?'

'Even then,' Cena nodded slowly, 'Kennedy may have forgotten John Cena, but I have not forgotten her. I shall move against any crime I see.'

'What if you don't see it?' Dean prompted, and waved a hand in front of the bigger man's face. 'What if, John Cena, you can't see me?'

'Well then...I suppose that might mean I can't stop you.'

'Bingo.'

Cena crossed his arms. 'What are you planning Ambrose?'

Roman was already regretting the answer before it was given.

'Some dirty little deeds.' Dean's smile near glowed in the dark it was so wide, his nicotine teeth near spelled the word trouble. 'So damn dirty I'll stain those pretty streets we call home. All for a set of wheels. The lengths we men go to, isn't it just gorgeous?'

'Dean -,'

'Not now Roman, I'm enjoying my psychosis.'

Somewhere beyond Cottonwood, Kennedy stood, with her spikes of power, greed and despair protruding from the rotten earth. She was a throne on which a devil king sat with his strings of skulls and a sledgehammer named _My Little Friend_. They could have run in the opposite direction, but would never have found what they were looking for. The only way was to head back into her iron maiden embrace. This was not going to be fun – but you wouldn't have known it looking at Dean. Because what scared him most was the look in his brother's eyes – Dean had a plan.

Fuck.


	39. This Little Universe

**((Thank you for your patience everyone! Here is the newest chapter for you : ) please enjoy and let me know what you think!))**

**BUCHANAN**

The lowest light she'd ever seen hung over the burned out town of Buchanan. It was as if day didn't quite dare to come to it, as if it knew that the full light would reveal what hid there. She'd never been, only heard the stories, but as they drew closer, closer, she could hear the voice from the back seat, whisper, warn them all,

'Careful, careful.'

It would have been easy to forget the sound of Mick. He'd hibernated since being hit by them, but all his cuts, all his bruises, broken bones if he had any seemed as if they were in the past with the accident. Wounds had closed, his voice betrayed no pain, but his eyes, they were wide and uncertain. Renee turned in her seat, watched the wild man; he couldn't sit still, his gaze moved from left to right through the windows, out into the blackness. Was that fear? Seth next to him seemed agitated by Mick, tried to move away from his turning body, but there next to him was Dolph, still, silent and still sleeping Dolph. He could have been dead and none of them would have known. Mick was so animated – like he'd sapped the energy of the other man.

'Careful of what Mick?' Renee whispered. She didn't dare to raise her voice – and didn't know why. Maybe it was the panic in his eyes; she could feel it spike deep into her, planting seeds of doubt. Had they done the right thing coming here?

'Look...' he pointed out the window.

Oh she could see, perhaps she hadn't noticed to begin with, too distracted by him. But now, in that meagre sunrise Buchanan crawled from the earth. Pitted remains and burned out buildings, old bones and rotten dirt. This had been a thriving town. This had been where thousands lived, and died. She could see it. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn't. Ghosts – they were everywhere; buildings that once were homes, bones which once were women and men and children. This was another world. Even now, she thought she could see the smoke rising into that mouldy sky. It stuck in her throat like a tumour.

'This...this is...'

'Home,' Brie finished. Her stare was hard and unblinking, her voice solid. She brought the truck to a halt, turned in the seat and pointed to Seth, who'd fallen back into some restless slumber. 'Mick, you fix him. Watch him -,' her finger moved to Dolph. 'Renee and I will explore.'

In Renee's lap, Lillian mewed – determined not to be forgotten, and when the truck door opened, she jumped down to the half melted asphalt.

'No no baby, you stay here,' Renee didn't want to leave the safety of the truck. The air seemed poisoned and her skin ran to bump as soon as it licked. But she was ignored, and the cat watched her patiently, waiting for her to gather her courage. Courage – was it courage that kept those gloved strapped round her hands? She looked at the studs as they rolled dull in that old light. _Dirty Deeds _– what did those words even mean? Brie reached over, touched her arm and nodded her out of that truck. The keys were thrown back to Mick.

'Anything happens, you find us. Understand Foley? If you don't, it's not the ghosts you need fear. It'll be me.'

The wild man, with his wheezy voice opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it. Brie took her ice eyes away and met Renee round her side of the truck.

'It's alright Renee, I'll look after you.'

'But -,'

'I know it's scary.' Brie had her back to it all; saw only the woman before her. In some strange way it was a comfort to Renee, in others, it terrified her all the more, that Brie could be so unfazed by the wanton destruction, that the cinders of her own home could merely be background noise. How could she be so strong? 'But the only ghosts here are old friends and memories. They can't hurt you. I won't let them, and you're too smart to let them catch you. Am I right?'

'I...guess so.'

Brie's guiding hand brought her down to the old road. She hadn't realized the heat. It seemed to strain through the cracks of the road. Harrison's cold rains were long gone, this place, it had all the heat of a Mexican sun. But the dark didn't quite leave, that sunrise barely bloomed above the cloud. Renee's old boots were hardy and as they walked away, she almost hated herself for leaving that truck, for leaving Seth behind. There were metres between them and it felt like miles. She'd made a promise to Roman; she'd look after Seth. They'd come this far...she couldn't leave him now.

'Brie -,'

The other woman didn't answer her. She just walked. Her steps took her on down that destroyed road, never looking back. She couldn't let her go on alone.

She had to stay with Seth – but Brie, what about Brie?'

'Brie please stop! I can't leave him. I can't!'

Finally, those half laced boots did stop. Half bodied, Brie turned, hair caught on that noxious wind, eyes filled to the brim,

'Then bring him. Bring his dead skin, we're all dead here Renee. Remember that.'

Renee didn't listen for more, she rushed back, heaved that backdoor open. Mick had Seth's fingers mid-bound and looked at her in surprise.

'Mick -,'

'It's ok Miss Renee, you take him, you take him and Mrs Foley's baby boy will stay here. I'll be good, I'll watch him, like she said, I'll watch him.' he pointed over at Dolph. 'He won't do anything. I know he won't, been watching him and my professional opinion knows he won't go nowhere.'

'Mick – can Seth walk?'

'Rude. Ask me yourself woman. Don't need no ape to answer for me.' Seth muttered, his eyes half open. 'Fuck...so fuckin' hot.'

'Seth we have to go.'

With Mick's aid, she somehow managed to manoeuvre the Shield member down to the road. Tired, battered and bruised, Seth leaned against her heavily. But his feet were flat to the floor, and he pulled himself away.

'I'm fine.'

'Seth, of all the things you are, clearly fine is not one of them.'

'You can't carry me the whole way.'

'I can try.'

'Stop being a martyr Renee Young. Sainthood doesn't become you. Sometimes it's smarter to let people carry their own sorry carcass.'

'You ARE a carcass.'

He smirked at that, an odd drooped smile which almost reached his eyes. One hand of his reached out and ran over her cropped hair. 'You suit that look, almost a soldier Renee, you're turning into one of us...I almost feel bad.'

'You two coming?'

Brie's voice echoed through shattered windows and empty rooms, it carried down the road, wayward and ran off into the distance. This was a different kind of peace here – it was old and it was broken, the heat was enough to sweat out your sins. But that odd fear was almost calming – it alarmed her that it was here, with no visible threat, that she finally felt afraid.

Seth stood uneasy, and placed one foot in front of the other. He tested his strength, his balance for the first few meters, with Renee just beside him. But with practice, he soon had it again. The heat disagreed with him, his fever brought sweat from his brow and into his eyes. But there was some sickening determination in him.

'There is a time to lie down and die Renee, and then, there is the time to run. I think I'm done dying. It hurts too much, makes me lazy. These bones are busted and this body slow, but I'm done. I was given two feet, two hands and a half stable head.' That half smile – his own half life etched into his face, it warmed her in a way that the haze could not.

Seth Rollins was alive.

She nodded toward Brie, and together, fast as Seth could initially manage, they followed after her, Lillian stalked behind. This apocalypse was not lost on Renee, it was not lost on Seth. When they fell in line with Brie, their heads turned to see origins and graves. It hurt to know that so many people had fallen among the flames. Melted plastic and mortar, blackened tin and brick...it was a perfect memorial, undisturbed.

'Do you think your friends are here Brie? It's so quiet...' Renee bit her lip, and crouched low to scoop up Lillian into her arms, a little unnerved.

'_As long as Buchanan stands, the Rhodes will remain_ – that's what Dusty used to say when we were kids. The legacy of his family is this town. It was his pride, his joy...his sons always found comfort in the confusion. They'll be here. If they're still alive...they always loved to play hide and seek, to jump out when you didn't expect it. Keep your eyes sharp...they'll pounce when you feel safest.'

Safe? How could anybody feel safe in this burned out shell? Even the softness of Lillian's fur, or her gentle purr couldn't sate the tension. Far behind them now, lay that truck. It had brought them so far. Dolph and Mick – she felt bad for leaving them, but it was too late to go back now. The speed Brie was moving, she'd never be able to catch again.

Buchanan was built as a stretch of road. Asphalt gave way to gravel and dirt. All along and as far back as the eye could carry were the remains of the shantytown. It felt like another universe. The shacks seemed to laugh at them, through the holes in that tin with that horrid breeze. It smelled alien. That whistling laugh – it almost seemed human.

'I don't like it here Brie.'

'Don't make the mistake Renee – no one ever liked being in Buchanan.' Brie muttered.

Seth was a few steps behind, hobbling, but not complaining. It was only when Renee realized she couldn't hear his winces of pain that she stopped.

'Brie?'

'What?'

'I can't hear Seth.'

The Bella twin turned on the spot.

'Renee – don't move. Don't speak. Don't even breathe.'

She wanted to ask why. God she wanted to turn or even to scream. Something was wrong, it had to be, something was so very very wrong. This was dangerous. This was horror written in lines of blood and smoke. She could _feel_ it like breath on the back of her neck. Warm, rancid breath, that came through teeth – a whistle sound – oh.

Something inhaled next to her, took in her scent like a wolf. Hands on her shoulders, long fingers, blackened. Breath released, and that _laugh_...her whole body trembled. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream.

'This is it! Oh this is it. We've waited; oh I counted, twenty two cycles now! This little universe, self-contained and painted black has been waiting! I've always wanted visitors, and now they're here - do you see them? See the stars?' a gleeful squeal, the drum of fingers on her shoulders, 'they're being so patient! We saw them when they arrived and started to knock on the door! They knock and they knock but they don't have a key, can't break through this cosmic atmosphere because they don't know how!'

The hand moved and pointed straight past her, beyond Brie. Stars – lights, no electric lights on the road, headlights from vehicles.

'Brie!' Renee tried to scream but found the same hand over her mouth.

'Hush, hush, you'll bring them too close! This is our planet, they're not welcome. Come on, come on!'

She wasn't quite released, more dragged off the darkened road, followed by Brie before they could be spotted. Feet stumbled over wreckage, dirt and splinter. They didn't give her chance to catch footing, she couldn't release Lillian. Finally, when hidden completely away, ducked down in the shards of an old tin shack, was she let go. To her shock, already there was Seth, unharmed and clearly as confused as she was. Next to him, was an extraordinary creature; his clothes were in shreds of black, his face and skin blackened by the smog and soot, but his face – burns, burns moved in almost patterns, as if self inflicted, almost yellow from the poisonous air.

'Goldust,' Brie muttered as she too crouched down. 'Is this how you and your brother treat old friends?'

The brother she referred to was next to Renee on hands and knees, eyes peered out through a busted hole in the tin. The ground was dry and hard, but he didn't seem to realize. His own face was curious, also burned in part, his skin red, almost purple as opposed to his brother.

'What do you see brother?'

'I see...I see an entire cosmos! A black hole brother! It's coming, it's going to swallow up everything in one big gulp!'

It was only when Renee slowly moved to look herself, a hand drifted in front of his eyes, that she realized. The brother, was blind. He noticed not her movement, but instead seemed to hear her, hear everything.

'Here it comes! I can see the galaxies it's already eaten in its fat belly, it wobbles! Soon it'll explode and we'll have another new universe!' more glee, he laughed through his teeth, and it was clear to see, that it was because half of his mouth, was burned shut by scar tissue. He spoke with excitement, but with a dull voice.

She peered as best she could through the slit in the tin. Vehicles, as many as five or six, crawled to a halt not far ahead of them. She could hear doors open and close, feet hit the road. Some ran forward, ahead, down that half melted path. No.

'Brie the truck! Mick and Dolph!'

But Brie did not answer. She didn't even move to look. She leaned against a wall of tin, head back, eyes closed. She didn't see as the two men were dragged, struggling to the waiting four wheelers. She didn't see enemies, an animal and a viper, stride forward. But she heard. She heard the sound as Mick Foley's neck was broken by that viper, his head thrown over shoulder and body slammed so hard into the ground, that vibrated through the earth.

She heard, they all heard, as Dolph spat the ground...and told them everything.

'I'm going to kill him, I'll rip that fucking voice right out of his throat,' Seth hissed. He made to move but was held back by Goldust.

'Whispers, whispers! You can see words, but do you know he means them? Does he mean betrayal or fun and games? Is he leading them or herding away? Words!' he almost seemed to bite Seth, but backed away.

_I told you. I told you I'd bring them to you. They're here in Buchanan, just like I said they'd be. I helped. The rebellion won't forgive me for this. You know that. I've done well for you. I've done everything you wanted. Now you give me what you said I could have. I want her – I want to keep her safe and take her away from this, from you all. You promised me I could. _

Whatever promise or bargain made was quickly forgotten it seemed.

Two bodies were thrown onto the back of that truck.

'Batista, Randy...'

'You know those two?'

'Know them?' Seth almost laughed. 'They damn near killed Roman, and the rest of us.'

The sheer thought of anything actually being able to dominate the three men...to kill Roman, who seemed so indestructible, so unmoveable...it was a terrifying notion.

'If they find us, we're fucked.'

'Goldust, care to show a little consideration and guide an old friend home?'

'Bella Bella, Bella.'

Apparently that meant yes. They had to be so careful, so quiet, but her own heartbeat seemed too loud as flashlights pried through the heat and fell on every spot unoccupied, but far too close for comfort. Seth could only just crawl, and every piece of weight on his hands brought pain so close to a scream. But he held it in. Buchanan was a maze; twisted and dangerous, every obstacle could have crippled, and the lightness of the burned Rhodes brothers astounded her. Stardust, as she realized the younger was named from his mutterings as they moved, for his blindness, knew every inch. Twenty years of wandering in complete darkness was a labour of love to map this place.

But as Renee crawled, breathless, hands raw from everything she touched, she could hear that sound over and over. The crack; the break. It rattled through her mind. She'd made to move, made to speak, top scream, but hands caught her and pulled her back, palm over her mouth, turned her head to his chest – Seth. He didn't say a word to her. Just did it. To protect her? To protect all of them from being found? She didn't know.

Renee cast a glance over to him.

Even as they made their escape, he watched her. Their eyes locked. Her heart had never been so loud, hit so heavy for the fear she felt, but in that second, she felt safe under his gaze. But there was no time, and what had possibly lasted a moment was gone.

'Quickly, quickly!'

Behind them she could hear shouts, feel the burn of torchlight on their heels. The enemy was coming closer...


	40. Iron Lungs

**((Here we go everyone! Back to Roman, Dean and Cena for this chapter! I hope you all enjoy it and please let me know what you think! It's quite a long one! Once again sorry for my absence, I've been holidaying!))**

**KENNEDY BASTION**

There was some kind of golden touch in his fingers as he fiddled with knots. He would have made a fantastic boy scout if he'd not spent his childhood burning out buildings and tangling with dealers and thieves. Wouldn't Mama have been so fucking proud of him? Wouldn't she just? Imagine him in that little uniform with his hat and his boots and whistling _Coming Round the Mountain_, it was enough to make you die. Perhaps Mama wouldn't then – that sad old bitch with punctures in her withered arms. Cena dragged that bitch from the bathtub, tried to rein him in and make it all alright, he owed him for that. He was being gentle as his nicotine digits would allow – even in the black light of another dawn, he could see the yellow sickness of his skin.

Perhaps he was ignoring it – oh that craving. Not just for that special tar to thicken his lungs, but that other brand of hysteria. That goodness that rotted his body inside out and made him too sweet too handle. But there was no special K. Should he have possessed it, Roman would have snatched it from his hands and ground it into the dirt. For his own good – of course. But the twitch was there, the unmistakable shake that all the old kinks got – addiction was the mother of all. He sniffed though, wiped his nose on the back of his hand – what was a few germs more? Fester germs fester! They could make their own playground of bacteria. Maybe he'd become a mutant, grow mushrooms from his hands and become the fungi freak, fun all the time, high off his own nutrients.

'Is this really necessary?'

'Yep.'

'It's very uncomfortable.'

'Can't have you chasin' us good ol' boys can we? 'specially since you've gone and decided we're the bad ones soon as we violate your pretty city walls.' Dean patted Cena's arm, 'Don't worry, I'll be gentle with her. Nice and fucking slow as I sneak on in, she'll barely feel me inside her.'

Cena squirmed a little as Dean dropped the tassel of rope and stood back to inspect his handy work. He'd chosen a beast of a tree to tie that man bear to. It was almost a shame to walk away from such a fucking beautiful piece of artwork, but they needed wheels. Wheels and cigarettes enough to smoke him straight to the gates of hell – whoops already there. He turned and glanced over shoulder to where trees gave way to wall. It was stone clad, steel core, high enough that even giants would have to jump. To keep scum in or out – that was the mystery. But in this instance, this delightful piece of scum was going to do what had never been done.

The Bastion had never been scaled.

Sticky fingers were Seth's forte. Dean's own were stained and bloody, wrists ached and blistered from the very rope that had bound him to ceiling, and now Cena to tree. Only a fucking idiot would attempt to climb the impossible. The clock was ticking and they didn't have time to argue, Roman alone could have been the only one to stop him at this point, but he was needed down, down in the dark. It was only because they had no other choice, that they would part once again. The Halls of Fame ran in a complete network below the whole city. Roman didn't know how to stay hidden on the streets, so it was best to keep him where he couldn't be found. Allies in the dark could guide him to where he needed to do. The slimy backstreets and alleyways were the home of only the wasted and the riotous act – Dean's home.

'You know I could break free of this and stop you.' It was clear Cena wasn't joking. His jaw was set in a grim line, he could have been serious through and through, but there was still that faraway look in his eye, as if he hadn't completely left Wyatt's grasp. 'I could, it would be really easy.'

The man was built like a tank. No fucking doubt there, but it would take even him a few sacred minutes.

'Best we get on with it then,' Roman muttered. He was so careful. He was so gentle. He took Dean's hands, one by one, and wrapped them tight in shreds from the scrubs. The shirt was gone, and what remained was the scarred and sweating body. The night was too cold, he could feel it sinking in its claws, but the headiness of the Wyatt house still stank off his skin, steam rising as if a fever. His hair was strands of grease and stuck to and off his head in all directions. There was weakness, they could all see him shake.

'Not quite the same but guess they'll do. Well big brother, see you on the other side. Cena,' Dean saluted him, 'if I run into that big blue ass of yours go easy on an ol' brother won't you? This game is gonna be fast and I don't need a boulder like you trippin' me up. Too easy to trip up these days...'

Dean's eyes drew up that grey wall. He could see nothing more than those red lights beyond. They'd found themselves that special nook that dove into the seedy underbelly of Kennedy, where the woman ruled and would destroy any and all who weren't welcome or didn't play by their rules. Dean was not welcome there. Never had been; done favours for the bitches here and there, no service given for ol' Dean. The ladies didn't want their hands on that body no matter what he could pay. Any with the kinks were turned away – too violent. But this wasn't some whore town.

The Authority ruled Kennedy, but the Mullah streets – even they didn't dare. Since the fall of Buchanan, they'd attempted to destroy their own pieces, but the powers that be of the Mullah streets...well they had fucked up more than one of the Authority goons.

He'd almost missed the lasses and their claws. A few scars worn were kisses from their slaps and pistol whips. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder what this natural gift he had with women came from. But thoughts could trail, and beyond that wall lay nothing but cloud, stars locked beyond. He knew women and he knew whores.

The finest he'd ever met was covered by dirt, whilst the others played with it.

'Ready?'

'I'm fucking Batman.'

Roman bent low, gripped Dean's knee, and heaved, didn't even seem to feel the bare foot against his shoulder. The lines between the stone work were thin, but old, worn. His fingers were bleeding within seconds, toes caught and arms heaved. Below he could feel his brother's gaze and for all his powers and confidence he could feel himself slipping. But he gritted his teeth and told himself to man the fuck up. Man fucking up! It's a fucking wall! Just a fucking wall! This wall was his bitch. He was making it his bitch. This wall was nothing. It didn't stand a chance against him – him! He was a superhero. He was that mutant with mushroom hands, he was fucking Batman. Did Batman have trouble with walls?

Did he fuck.

'Don't look down!' Cena called helpfully from ground level.

So he did.

Fuck that was a long way. Barely half way up and it would mean a broken back should he let go. Roman was gone; already lost among the undergrowth that lead down into the catacombs. He was left with a cop cheerleader.

'You can do it! Just believe in yourself! Never give up Dean!'

'I swear to God Cena I will fucking kill you if you don't shut up,' he hissed into the stale morning air. You couldn't tell the difference between the night and day. It was the air alone which told you the moon had passed on by. There were no guards on the wall. No need – who would even fucking try? Fucking Bat Dean that was who. That was right. He wasn't Batman. He was Bat Dean. Hardly a fucking hero.

He was exhausted, could barely see for the sweat in his eyes, couldn't feel his finger tips, fumbled for grip. He hadn't breathed for what felt like minutes, heart hit so hard his whole body shuddered, it smacked against that wall as if trying to throw him off. No! No it wouldn't fucking work. Dean was a vapour. He was the air. Like a leaf on a fucking breeze. He was a spider web.

Hey – maybe Cena's positive thinking shit was working, it almost seemed to bring the edge closer. He clung to nothing, and forty five feet was shrinking into his hands. His slippery fucking hands.

'Almost there!'

Cena's voice was just a lilt now; lost to the haze below. Thick stone blocks, little to cling too – if he should fall...

Then he'd fall into oblivion and sink into the ground and find AJ Lee. He'd sleep with her in that tattered earth womb they'd made and weighed down with those stones. This fucking empty dawn – a whole day and night dead, it felt like it was her blood on his hands still, not his. But then a lightness – as if her memory carried him, as if her arms were still wrapped around him, and lifted him up, up, up until there was hold.

Hold and heave and Dean's sorry corpse found itself flat on its back, gasping for lungful after lungful of sweet pollution. He'd forgotten how good it tasted – the sterile world of the white box and the rancid sweetness of the Wyatt Lot were distant memories – this was the life. He could have laid there forever if someone had pressed 70% into his hand and a cigarette into his mouth. The stone was cool against his slick back, fuck if he had fucking pneumonia after this he was blaming Seth – fucking sure you could get that shit from talking on a phone. But there was that warm breeze – carried from somewhere beyond the trees, a blown kiss perhaps from his starry eyed girl. And there – from where he perched, pushed to a stand and wiped his bloody hands clean, he could see a line of blood red on that horizon. Was that the sun?

He'd never seen it. It seemed so far away. But it was the closest he'd ever been.

It was fucking beautiful.

He could have stayed for hours. But he had to turn his back on that thing in the sky, turn toward the forever dark. Buildings huddled bent and crooked, broken down and smelling of old sex and booze. Mullah; stacked up and stacked out. Windows whistled open and the crank of old aerials and shifting brick and timber talked dirty to him, and he looked over them fondly.

'Filth, pure fucking filth. Missed ya old girl...now let's hope there's some friendly faces.'

Talking to himself. Was it because there was no Cena now? No Roman? Who could a mad man talk to if not himself? The walls? Not mad...no no, they'd been over this a thousand times. But old habits die hard, and if he watched too close, maybe the walls would melt, or the cracks would expand and swallow him whole. Perhaps – if he watched too long.

Bad dreams and memories aside, it took little effort for him to find himself on building top. Old concrete and tin for some, but the sturdier they were, the higher they stood. He needed to shimmy and shake his way on down to ground level, where the rats played; lower than the filthy angels that they clung to and buried their little teeth into. He remembered his fair share of those women, and as he wound his way down old fire escapes, rotten and rusty, he found himself stopping at familiar windows, spied on in.

But there were only strangers fucking; in all manner of ways. He stopped a little too long maybe at one where inside were two ladies, wrapped in leather and tongues twisted into a fucking knot. But was it the women that roused him? Fuck no. Inside, he could see lined up ready for suction was his old beauty, that greater power than any woman or god.

K. Fucking special K. It practically sang to him. His leg was half through the window when he caught himself, hands gripped so hard on the frame he thought it might crack. The shakes; the fucking shakes he might lose himself if he didn't get a fucking grip. So he did. Tight. He pulled back; ignored by the two lovers. Head low, he wheezed and breathed, shook sweat off. The kinks – old and new were worse than any torture.

He'd rather give his other kidney.

The streets crept closer, and soon, building to building, level to level, the smell of rotten garbage took over from the stench of cum. He'd grown iron lungs in this city. He could swallow all manner of stink without flinching. The last rungs of the last ladder slipped through his fingers, and bare feet landed smack on that old tarmac. He could hear it all, the songs of Mullah, the screams and the cries, and the pure violence of lust. He licked his salted lips. Hidden among the maze of this slut slum was an old friend; with a set of wheels so vicious it made him hard just thinking about it.

'Looking for a game?' the voices purred from the dark. New blood, who didn't recognize the cretin in the dark; damn, and he thought they'd all have been warned about motherfucking Dean Ambrose. He was Batman for gods sakes. Woman needed to warned before they spontaneously fell pregnant with his super sperm. Roman may have had the looks, the charm, the sexual prowess of a tiger in the dark, but Dean had the bug eyes of horn; in even the words of Seth and Roman, women weren't safe.

He'd always believed them. Perhaps that was why he was explicitly banned from the streets of Mullah.

Hm.

'Only play games I win babe.' Dean muttered in passing. A blatant lie. Odds or not he'd throw all in because that was how shit went. How he lived. Live fast die in an alley with head beaten in with brick or _My Little Friend_. Never a pretty death happened in Kennedy. How he'd made it so long was down to two relentless brothers, he'd never counted himself a lucky bastard. But lucky he was; black and blue as the ace of fucking spades.

The ladies were out and on the prowl; wanted victims and cash. Some men never left the beds they were tied to. He'd escaped his, and wasn't about to be tied down again. Too much important shit to do. Like Seth in the distance, like that ignorant special k. No. Careful. Here there was too much temptation; flesh and drugs came hand in hand, and if he found himself in hand, no doubt there would be needles to follow.

Hidden in the arse end of Mullah, was a workshop. A garage, a junk hoard. A shit pile. It was where the tide of crap and unwanted ended up. Trash was a fucking goldmine if you knew what to look for, how to build it. If you looked closely, you could find the shiny in the dirt. He pressed himself against busted walls, felt the scrape against his bare skin and almost didn't notice the pain. He'd eaten too much of it over such a short amount of time. Here, there, eyes swung, some saw him but did nothing, it was only a matter of time until he was familiar to someone. If he could just get to where he needed to be...

Where was Roman? Lost beneath him, he could almost imagine his brother caught in the black, lead blindly by instinct or a long dead, long living goat man. Bla. He could almost feel him, like he and Roman were connected through wires in through the heavy black and grey earth. Dean sniffed, spat against the cold wind. Three blocks to go, down the narrowest side in Mullah; he should have stuck to the rooftops. Graffiti decorated the walls, tags of artists and rebels alike. He could remember teenage years with spray can in hand, dodging sharp hands and knives. He'd had quite the hand; works of art that was what this Neanderthal made. But now his fingers shook too much; like a fucking old man. He saw them now, looked down at another wave of tension through his hands. Dean sucked his teeth dry.

He moved.

No time to stop now. No one ran in Mullah. Attention shifted straight to him. Something was wrong. Spider eyes multiplied and every corner stared. The cries soon followed.

'Ambrose! Ambrose is here!'

'Ladies!' he shouted and saluted. Someone pelted him with a used condom, but he dodged quick, slick round a corner into more shadow. There was no hiding now. The game had begun. This cat and mouse could end with more than a slap to the face or a knee to the cock; he could remember Natalia Hart's warning if he so much as ever stepped into her territory again.

_Touch my girls, so much as stare at them, Ambrose, and I'll remove your balls through your nose. You'll be sneezing your own sperm for the rest of your life, and every time you go to itch, you'll think of me. _

Itch, she gave him a fucking itch alright. Screw a girl over and they curse you until the end of your days or threaten your jewels, damn insensitive. He near tripped as he pulled round another corner, past one young lass being fucked up the ass. For a second their eyes locked, recognition clicked, and mid coitus, fast as a flick knife, she pulled a gun from her inner thigh.

'Fuckin' freeze.'

But her client wasn't as keen on the ruthless violence and thrust, knocked her concentration and the gun from her hand. Close. Dean moved on the heavy rainfall from before still traced the ground in shallow puddles. They wet his bloody, muddy feet, cleaned them until they junked again. They weren't following him; didn't need to. There were hands and eyes everywhere, and he knew it would only be a short about of time until the Queen of Hearts herself knew. He'd made a hobby of making enemies. Maybe he should have taken up knitting instead.

Seth could knit.

Was he in as much shit? Or was he sleeping away the hours?

Bastard could sleep through a gun fight.

The first bullet ricocheted off a wall, sent splitters that cut his skin, Dean threw his hands over his head. Couldn't slow down, couldn't stop, could only just see where to go. His eyes were the best of the three, years of dwelling in the dark had made him one of the rats. Better that he never saw the sun – it would surely blind him like the white walls of bedlum. Closer, closer, the shots were good, only avoided last second. He could hear them rain like hale, it was only a matter of seconds...shelter! He needed out of the open, but nowhere was safe.

There! Ahead! Scraps of metal, built up like walls, old wood for a door, tyres for barricades. His fists hit the wood first, it smacked and blasted as the bullets hit. He slammed his whole weight against that door.

'Open the fuck up!'

A small slot at eye level shifted open with a shunt, and a pair of beady black eyes peered through, cut eyebrows raised at the intrusion.

'You a friend?'

'I'll be your fucking lover if you let me in!'

It seemed to be good enough for the man behind the door, because it opened abruptly. Dean stumbled in and together they heaved it closed once again. It was heavier than first seemed, sheet metal stapled to it in layers just in case the women got trigger happy. Dean slid down to rest at its foot, the cloth on his hands had worked loose and he used it now to try and wipe away the sweat. The judgemental eyes stared down at him.

'I don't wanna hear it.'

'Well you're gonna anyway!' a hand smacked the back of Dean's head irritably. 'How's a brother supposed to get work done when freaks like you bust in at all hours? How? You'll wake him up you know, you know what happens when he wakes up. I don't hear the end of it.'

It had been a while since Dean had last stumbled into the junk filled wonderland. Clutter grew like mould and all around him were jagged edges and discarded luxuries. The man in front of him was marvellously cluttered. Dozens of belts gathered at his waist, from which all manner of curiosities dangled; a torch, a plastic hippo, three rotting apples. His braided hair was tucked under a paper and foil hat, beneath which were those eyebrows and wide staring eyes. His clothes were shreds, but beneath was the body of a brick. Even his pants were painted all colours from stumbling through the graveyard of throw aways.

One finger pointed accusingly at Ambrose's face.

'You said you wouldn't come back! You said! You promised! And what happens? You break it. You go and break it and...what's up?' he crouched down. Possibly bipolar, most probably insane, he cocked his head to the side with an audible crack, only the scars around his wrists listed him as an inmate from long ago. They'd shared strait jacket talks together; he liked to eat lemons by the bucketful, and slept naked save for stuffing his junk in a sock 'because they like to be comfy'. On his papers he was listed as a threat to society. In truth? Well he was. But holed away in his little dream world he was happy, safe, and free to go about his lunacy. When they'd first met, Dean had been introduced to the space of air next to him first.

'Since when do we trust my word? How's Jimmy?'

'Sleeping.' The answer was blunt and two mitts black as night heaved him up from the floor. 'Don't wake him. Creep, creep quiet, so very quiet.'

'Truth, I need some wheels.'

Almost all at once his demeanour changed. Something childlike shone in his eyes and he started to bounce on his worn down heels.

'Wheels you say, got plenty of wheels. You need a rig? I'll build you a rig, best you've ever seen! Need to break through walls? Climb walls? Build walls? Redecorate walls?'

'Needs to be fast -,' he physically ducked at yet another bullet smashing off the armoured door. 'and preferably bitch proof.'

'Bitch proof, bitch proof? _I_ am the bitch proofer extraordinaire! How soon do we drive?'

'_Roman_ and I -.'

He was cut off by the manic glare of Truth. He'd never liked Dean's Samoan brother, thought him smug, above everything that they were. The street dogs stuck together. He'd never thought badly of Dean for becoming a hound – it was natural evolution, but Roman, with his shiny pride and lack of criminal background seemed too high bred to Truth. Didn't trust him.

'He here?'

'Down,' Dean knocked the ground beneath their feet. 'Still got that ol' hatch oiled?'

Truth glanced over his shoulder. 'Buried under a mountain of gold.'

Dean's eye twitched at the prospect of having to dig out Roman's escape route. He should have known better than to think that Truth would be convenient in any way. They went way back, but it didn't mean that this would be easy. Truth lived to build, to create rather than destroy, couldn't stand people throwing away what he considered of use. But there were debts between them, with Dean owing more than his gold teeth to the other man. If he could keep him excited enough about the prospect of a build, then it possibly wouldn't crop up.

He fucking hoped it didn't come up.

Vague memory served he'd promised Truth his appendix in a jar if he'd lent him that jack in the box...it was so long ago he couldn't quite recall.

'Oh I'll build...I'll build, my magnum opus! She'll be beautiful...I need wheels, I need body, I need, I need! A carcass!' Truth himself had wandered off, his mutterings as flustered as his flailing hands. He dashed this way and that through his home made cavern, clawed things from the walls and progressed toward the workshop at the back. Once, when drunk they'd bet one another who could swallow the most screws and shit them out again. He was never sure who had won, but had woken up on the worktop with a screw through his tongue where he'd passed out and tried to swallow at the same time. Embarrassing really; Truth had pulled it out again with a pair of pliers.

Truth could have his fun.

He needed to find Roman. Truth was out of sight. Time to explore, to try and find that old hatch; he knew it was somewhere. But where? It was like trying to find the honest man in the Authority. Dean started to dig through piles of junk, threw dolls and old cameras and wicker baskets and half torn rims of paper aside. He found socks and spiders and apple crates and an ugly jacket the colour of mustard. But the hoarder had gathered so much more than before. The hatch was cut into a wall, but where? You could hardly see them for the larders and cupboards and shelves and nails knocked into them.

'Truth?'

He wasn't going to get any help. Already he could hear the sparks fly as the mad man began to weld. Mad? Why mad? Because he saw what wasn't there, a child that didn't exist. His imaginary friend that Dean had treated as such. Truth loved and confided in Little Jimmy. To anger or upset that invisible kid was to suffer the wrath of R-Truth.

There. Behind the walls, a scrape, a muffled shout. Closer, closer!

'Roman!' Dean started to heave the shelving away. Pieces flew and smashed on the ground, he stumbled over the tangle of everything to try and finger the edges of the hatch. More shelves, a wardrobe, kitchen units, he heaved it all aside until finally he saw it cut into the grated metal walls. He dug his finger tips into the grooves and heaved. He fell back with the force, found himself tangled in a slinky and old panty hose as a shadow crept close.

Long black tendrils in hand, the crippled cracked body at its feet sounded familiar, looked like a brother. Blood ran from his nose and mouth, lines on his forehead, bruises on his throat and chest, and there, left behind as he dropped the big dog of a shattered shield to the floor, was a beast incarnate. He breathed like a dragon, the heat that came off him was near nuclear, and the sickening smirk on his lips reached his beetle eyes. One massive foot kicked Roman so hard he crumpled, rolled down the landslide of junk to rest at Dean's feet. He scrambled to him, pulled him into his lap, hands on his head, stroked the mane of black hair from his face, frantically tried to scrub the blood away as the shadow fell over him.

'You look sad.' The blunt voice came. 'Does it hurt to see him like that? Does it? He took something from me. I thought I'd do the same. But there you are, waiting for me. You know me Ambrose, don't you?'

But he received no response. Dean's forehead was stuck to Roman's. His brother was alive, barely, but alive. Each breath was that of a raggedy man, not the juggernaut he loved so strongly and trusted and believed in without fault. This was the broken body of a fallen hero. The villain had snatched a victory.

'Rome, Rome it's ok. I've got this Rome.' He swallowed down the pale pill of fear, because this wasn't fear. He wasn't afraid. He kissed his brother's head; not goodbye. Not yet. Maybe soon, but not right then. He placed him tenderly among the chaos, and staggered to his feet.

The beast snorted, 'You think you can do what he can't?'

Dean didn't answer him. His arms hung loose by his sides, and he cracked his knuckles against his thighs. He was missing some pieces, those _Dirty Deeds_ weren't there to hold him back. Through the sweating madness of his hair, his bug eyes fell onto those of the creature before him. That flesh and blood so tender and rare, what a massive joint to fell, to bleed out. What a thing to behold. Look at the muscle, look at the sinew. Oh yes, this would do. He would do so well to fall like the beast he was.

The intensity crowded the cluttered room. The beast, Lesnar, cracked his neck. 'Well?'

From beneath it all, every layer of grime and dirt, every barrier he'd ever built, Dean smiled. Lips stretched to all corners, wide as a lantern, eyes thick and wide. Yes. Head rolled back. Shoulders twitched.

Lesnar charged.


	41. BONUS CHAPTER II

**((Hello there! Thank you all for sticking with the story so far, as a celebration of reaching forty chapters and nearly six thousand views, here is another bonus chapter for you all! We're getting through it and I'm so grateful that people seem to enjoy it! Please continue to let me know what you think and once again thank you for all your support! It really makes it worthwhile! This is set during the previous chapter!))**

**THE HALLS OF FAME || KENNEDY**

_Had he been a friend?_

_He'd always been there, just in front, striding along like a man with a lion on a leash. He'd been fat, a fat fucking walrus with a fat fucking mouth. Words came out of him like he was pissing silver, could have wrapped every living thing round his thick fingers, commanded the whole world with those hungry eyes, and when words weren't enough, he stepped in._

_But was he a friend?_

_When he lay there dying, he'd felt something, an uncertainty, an emptiness he'd never processed before. It didn't work, couldn't quite fit. Had it been his fault? The finishing blow had fallen from his hand, clean as the pipe that smashed his brains out in one hit. But it had been meant for another - that dog in the dirt with the pretty face and the superman punch. He'd hit hard; but he would have been nothing more than another body. Would have been nothing more than another face, another victim he'd chewed up and spat out. Instead he was tattooed to memory: Roman Reigns was born to die at his hand. The one man who'd been with him forever, who'd stood by him no matter what the consequence had managed him and kept him above the Authority was gone because Reigns was too much of a coward to face his own destruction._

_Paul Heyman had been a friend._

_Perhaps he'd been the only one he'd ever meant to have. He'd never spoken to him like one. He'd never even shown any sign he might have cared. He hadn't. He couldn't have given a shit, until he was gone. There was an empty space to his front, on the right. There was no fat walrus negotiating his pay, no savvy tongue keeping them above water. He'd always done what was best for the beast. Sleep, eat, destroy, repeat – that had always been the motto. _

_But there would be no sleep._

_Paul Heyman had been more._

_He'd lost something. _

_Roman Reigns had taken it away from everything._

_He'd left that arena, Authority, audience, Cesaro, everyone in his dust. He'd find him; he'd burn down the whole of Kennedy to find the man who'd killed Paul Heyman. He'd destroy every wall, every bone he had to until he had the head of Roman Reigns between his two hands, and crushed it. Only when the brain ran into the ground would he stop, would he sleep. This pitted black desire drove him onward into the darkness of the catacombs. He hunted, sought the heartbeat he could still hear in his smudged ears. There were steps everywhere, too big for rats, a different kind of vermin. He practised his hunt. He took them down, bloody and loud at first. Then he got quieter, bulldozed them into the dirt. There was more hidden in the Halls of Fame than the dead legends of Kennedy. Soon, soon he would bury Reigns here. No fucking tomb, he'd be separated. He'd be everywhere so people could see what had happened. His heart would be mush under his boot. _

_The prelude had passed. _

_He'd seen him stumble through the blackness, lost, blind. His hands had felt for holds. His boots caught. Naive, stupid dog. The beast had watched him. Toyed with him, a sound here, a voice there. He'd called out to him, told him he was hunting him. That he would pay for what he did. The pleasure, the fucking elation as he'd landed the first hit from the blackness. Reigns was exhausted, battered, it took no time at all to make him bleed. It turned him on, to see that thick red glob run from the broken nose, for him to knock teeth and split lip. The harder he hit, the more Reigns crumpled, the stronger he was. He was king of the fucking mountain. There was nothing to the big dog of the Shield. Almost a disappointment how easy it was. A mutter:_

'_**Dean...**__'_

_Dean, Dean fucking Ambrose. _

_Another stray that needed to be put down; he'd seen him fight in the pits before. A terrier that didn't give up no matter how he hurt; could cut off his head and he'd still try and bite your ankles. He mattered to Reigns. The smugness of thought heaved the broken body from the floor by the hair, made him crawl as he pulled him along through the dirt._

'_We're going for a walk, dog. Gonna find your friend. I need a new toy. You broke too easy.'_

_He followed sounds, the sounds of scraping against walls. They were thinner in parts, some stone, others old metal. There. He could hear it better; the crash of fuck knew what. _

'_**Dean!'**_

'_Shut the fuck up Reigns.' Meaty fist met chiselled jaw with a delicious crack. It busted his own knuckles but sent a surge through his whole body, blood and temperature rising. The yelp seemed to spur on what happened beyond the wall._

_Yes._

_Come closer, little pig, little pig...let me in..._


	42. A Serious Threat

**((We've made it to 6,000 views and 100 reviews! Thank you so much everyone for making this possible! I'm trying to make up for lost time here, so here is another chapter for you! I'm sorry I'm not able to update as frequently than I would like, but I'll always do my best! I'm always thinking about the next chapter, so here it is! I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think, I always appreciate your comments!))**

**BUCHANAN**

Of all the places he'd ever expected to find himself, Buchanan wasn't one of them. Brie Bella had led them into a rat trap of the great design's making. Oh he didn't doubt her intentions had been fine ones, she'd wanted to somehow keep this rag tag congregation safe. Whatever her reasons had been, it was a fucking stupid decision and he regretted letting her make it. He had always been the one with all the brains. Making the plans should have been his job, now they'd fallen back into the old routine and were running for their lives across this burned out carcass of a town. But they'd been given a massive dose of the worst luck; he knew the men who followed wouldn't rest until they were found.

What then?

His feet hammered home that he was getting stronger. From healing? From her? He cast his eyes across to Renee. Little Renee with her solider crop and her dirt streaked face. He'd ruined her. They all had. Roman should have left her in that nowhere diner with a safe future, not brought her out into the field like this. But where would he be without her? Already in the clutches of the Authority? Already dead? All for his own ego, all for what he could feel strapped to his body. His sticky fingers had fucked him so thoroughly over. He knew what waited for him at his end, and it wasn't some shiny heaven like what shone in the dead eyes of Stardust.

The Rhodes brothers traversed the scape fast, but they were strangers in a strange land. He and the girls stumbled, caught tripped, but all kept running from the flashing lights from behind. He'd seen what Randy had done to Mick. Mick, the gentle wild man with the wheezing voice who'd meant no harm to anyone. He'd once been indestructible, he'd once been Cactus Jack, and now he was gone. It was over, another legend dead at the hands of the Authority. What pleasure did they get from ending the lives of people? Perhaps the same he'd once had as the Authority's hand; out to maim and destroy in the name of justice.

Justice seemed a long time ago.

Look where it had brought him!

He could smell it all; even the long gone flesh from the patchy skulls had a taste. The day was coming fast, a dawn that would bring heat hot enough to set fire to the world once more. His step-father had always told him that if you weren't Latino when you arrived in Buchanan, you would be after a week.

'Quickly, quickly!' Goldust breathed.

But there was no quickness anymore. Seth moved as fast as he could, but it was nothing compared to the speed the others could move. Renee lagged, kept pace with him, wouldn't leave him behind because he forgiving heart wouldn't let her. She was too good. Too kind. He didn't deserve it.

'Come on Seth!' she whispered, moved closer, and of all things, she took his hand. She gripped tight, fingers locked. And he understood what it meant, it would take the devil himself to pry her away. She'd made a promise that she would keep, even in this desolate wasteland, even when all hope was gone. They were the hunted, wild animals on the run, it was survival of the fittest, and she was willing to sacrifice her own chances, just so he wasn't left behind.

'Rollins!'

Batista. Randy could move faster, but the animal had posted himself to the front of the pursuit, heaved metal and wood and kicked bones from his path. They'd all been corrupted by the sniff of riches promised by the Game. Of all people, he wouldn't have thought the viper and the animal would deal well with orders, but it seemed the enjoyed it. The coming dawn was white hot and shot against his skin like a brand. Renee pulled him hard, urged him on. His limbs were tired, ached, his wounds sore. He couldn't drag her down, but she wouldn't let go.

'Go Renee, just fucking go,' he hissed, tried to pull himself free.

'No!' she snapped, and heaved, 'no I won't!'

'Why?'

Her eyes met his. She didn't need to say another word. She'd never let go. She'd hold on until they were both dead in the ground. Suddenly, he felt some force from ahead. Brie had caught a hold of Renee's other hand. With more strength than her body portrayed, she propelled them all after the scarred Rhodes brothers. At their feet, moving swift was that cat. It didn't miss a beat, didn't stray, as if it too refused to abandon them. The air was a chemical swirl, and behind them, he could hear the enemy struggle too. Buchanan was abandoned for a reason. Only the blistered and burned could survive. The brothers ahead had never left the walls of Buchanan, were born and raised before it was reduced to ruin. It was all they knew.

It hit him like a hurricane. The force that pulled him down came with a yelp of pain. Renee, she was on the floor, foot twisted. Her face was pale. She tried to hold it back, and to stand. Without asking, without being told, Seth and Brie Bella pulled her up, arms around their shoulders. The wounded carried the wounded.

'My ankle,' she whispered, her teeth buried themselves into her lip to stop herself crying out. Seth looked down. It wasn't broken, but around a thick bruise was blooming around where it had caught. But on what? Could have been any piece of the wreckage; what it was didn't matter. What did, was that they were slowing down.

'This way, this way!'

'Rollins! I see you Rollins!'

'Hurry!' Brie hissed. They stumbled together, Renee walked as best she could, until the chilling realization came. They weren't going to make it. Brie would if she ran. Maybe even Seth could. Renee looked at him, her eyes soft, words poured through without her once opening her lips.

'No.'

'Seth -,'

'Shut up. I'm not leaving you.'

'You're the one they want!'

'They killed Mick...Renee they'll kill you too.'

'And you'll get away. You'll get away and you'll find your brothers. You'll be safe Seth and that'll make it all alright. You're meant for bigger things than me.'

He didn't know why he did it. But he couldn't stop himself. Maybe it was to keep her quiet. Maybe. She tasted like sweat and tears, but even through it all, smelled like the flowers she kept by the bed. She seemed shocked, froze against his kiss. His hand held her face and he pressed his head against hers tight.

'Nothing is bigger.'

He let go then, he turned and face what was coming. He wasn't strong enough for this and he knew it. But he'd fought wounded before. He'd go down gunning.

'Seth!'

He heard her voice drain away. She was taken away to safety. The lights came closer, closer. Was this as close to heaven as he could get? His lights at the end of the tunnel were fucking electrical. But as they fell upon him, as he shone in the heavy air, he found that he wasn't alone. Another body stood by him. Full strength, with razor in hand, Brie took his free one and squeezed it before letting go.

'I told you Rollins, you're not alone.'

He could do nothing but one short nod.

A shadow fell across him, then another. Two bodies in front of those lights; there was no mistaking Batista's bulk and Randy's lithe, swaying figure. He could just about see as Randy licked his lips, saw something delicious to feast on. He'd already killed once that new day, and now he wanted more.

'Seth Rollins. We found you. Must say, you ran well. Seems you found some new friends to save your worthless ass. Won't the other dogs be upset you've replaced them?'

He could almost hear sirens in the air. Even in the blistering heat could almost feel Kennedy's cold rain. He could remember this day so well. He could see it in the frozen wastes of his memories. That time, so long ago when they'd turned against this; when they'd gone against the burning man himself, when they'd defied Kane. That day, that moment had brought them all to this. He'd never said it, but he'd been so scared of his future. It was why he'd found himself falling back into the grasp of the Authority. But now, as he saw them, this haze in the wastes, he knew they were nothing. The sun – he'd seen it before, but had almost forgotten it. There it was now, on the horizon, rising through the grey and murk. The lights burned out and there they stood. Four humans as rotten and spoiled as the other. There was no innocence between them; perhaps they'd find it in the next life when this was over.

'They're safe and far away from you, Batista. Just as well, your fucking stench could kill off a whole town.'

He'd obviously spent far too much time around Dean. When you started to insult as the answer to anything they'd called it the Book of Deanation. Every insult under the hellish sun had been spat from that man's lips. And he was alive. They all three were alive. It made no sense, and he would have given anything for them to stand together in this forgotten realm, to stand, to talk. Maybe he'd find them in the next life, with their restored innocence. He missed their faces, this danger had never mattered when they were together. He turned his head to Brie. The woman whose husband he'd murdered, who chose to stand and fight with him.

The Shield had never just been three men.

The Shield was defiance, and even broken, it still stood strong as it could, a threshold between power and riot.

'But you're not,' Randy pointed out. 'You're not safe at all Rollins. The Game wants to have a word with you. And the one who broke Kane's nose. He's not best pleased that his right hand man was so damaged. We may have to break theirs to make things fair. Or more.'

'Who's that next to you?' Batista raised a hand to shield his eyes. 'Bella?...Brie Bella?'

He laughed. They both did. It echoed cold and hungry across the shanty town. Even those long dead would have turned for hearing it. Seth wasn't entirely sure what was so funny. He'd seen this woman move; she was like lightning, faster even than Randy Orton himself.

'Are you going to stand there all day or is this supposed to be a serious threat to my life?' Seth snapped. He was tired, angry. Being laughed at...it wasn't helping. He wanted to pound their smug grins into the cinders. He didn't look much, or even feel it. But he'd fought these demons before. And he'd won. There was an ongoing war, with so much blood and many bones it was hard to tell who was winning. But his words seemed to trigger some kind of reaction. There – that bloodthirsty smirk on Orton's face. He'd chosen Brie. You could see it in his eyes, he saw a piece of meat rather than an opponent. Brie's face was set, jaw clenched, lips sown shut. Her eyes were on what had to be done. The razor was closed, hidden in the palm of her hand, but ever present; the reminder that her husband was with her in that moment, even from his grave.

Batista moved first. He lurched, arms stretched out toward Seth, who stepped neatly aside and watched as he skidded to an awkward halt behind.

Seth Rollins was fast too.

With a roar Batista charged again. Seth caught a hold of one of those meaty arms and used his own momentum to swing him straight toward one of the still standing shacks. He collided with a crash. He sent his eyes quick to behind him, Randy shot toward him, arms raised to hit the same move which had killed Mick Foley. But Brie was having none of it. She twisted like an eel, gripped a hold of his head and sent them both smashing into the ground. Batista was on his feet, clouds of dust and cinder boomed round him and he sniffed, spat and growled.

'Come on Batista, thought you were supposed to be demolishing this poor unfortunate soul, not this poor unfortunate town. Insensitive of you, don't you think Buchanan has suffered enough without you?'

He paid for that. Batista smashed into him so hard he near knocked the blond from his head. He was picked up and slammed down into that hollow earth. He felt his ribs scream, the dust caught his eyes and his nose and his mouth and he coughed and spluttered as Batista snatched him up. The brawls they'd had before...they'd hurt like hell. But both sides had left limping. His back smashed into corrugated metal, one long pang which sounded like some old hymn. Seth raised his hand, broken fist and all, and slammed it hard as he could against Batista's ear. In agony he was dropped and swung both his legs round fast as he could, brought the giant down to one knee. He raised himself up, raised his leg and swung. His foot hit so hard against the animal's jaw the earth rattled as loud as his teeth. Batista seemed in shock, head faced the opposite direction and just stared. Mouth opened and a few shiny ivories trickled free on blood.

But he couldn't let up.

Seth ran forward, managed to grip the other man's head and pulled. They hit the ground hard, but his bones were screaming. Pain gripped his knee, his hand, face, every particle was crying out. But he had to be strong. Hidden away from view was a woman he'd promised to protect. He'd fight until the death. That was the way of the Shield. When this was all over, he'd carry her home. He'd tuck her back under her sheets and kiss her goodbye, and she'd never see him again. What a happy ending.

Something caught his foot, and heaved, Seth found his chin smashing into the ground, dazed, he felt for something, anything as he was dragged back, back, fingers in the dirt. He could see Brie, she was on the floor, Orton's foot on her stomach, great fistfuls of her hair in hand, as he pulled her up, smashed her down, over and over. No.

'Brie!'

'Your girlfriend is busy Rollins.' Batista growled, and smashed his own foot into Seth's ribs. He doubled over hard, another kick, another, another, each time he looked for her. Saw Brie struggle. But she didn't give up. She fought like a wild animal and he saw as she managed to lift her knee and slam it straight into Orton's groin.

'Seth!' she screamed, turned over, and threw. Something sailed through the air toward him, landed with a skid in the dirt, inches away. He made to reach out, but Batista grabbed his hair and hurled him round, flung him away to land among rubble.

'What's this then?' the animal picked it up, examined and opened it. The flash of the razor grinned as cruel as he. 'Look here Randy. Pretty girl was packing.' He bent down in front of Brie, played with the light on the blade in front of her. 'Maybe we should show her what happens when you defy the Authority.'

She spat.

He snared and wiped his face clean, raised the blade.

'Batista!'

Seth collided with him, shoulder first. Sent the other man bowling, the razor knocked to the floor. Brie twisted under Orton, jammed her foot into his stomach and shoved with all her might. The viper stumbled back and Seth heaved Brie to her feet, they stood, back to back, eyes locked, ready to attack. The other men that had been brought along didn't seem interested in getting their arses kicked. Or had there only been the two of them to begin with? There had seemed more. But then, perhaps the lights had played tricks on his eyes.

'Nice working with you Rollins,' Brie muttered. She scooped the razor up from the dirt as they were advanced upon from both sides. 'Do we kill them?'

'If they don't kill us first,' Seth muttered.

Batista had murder in his eyes. But then, he stopped as if something else had caught his attention. Seth wasn't given any time to pause as something locked around his neck, and he found himself slamming down. If the arm had been different, his neck would have broken. But somehow, instead it cushioned the blow, the back of his head knocked the solid ground. The world blasted into stars, breath caught in his throat, his heart stopped. Pain exploded throughout his entire body. Winded he could barely move.

The sky above him was steel grey, pinched with blood. Was it behind his eyes? Or from the rising sun?

'Seth!'

Brie? No...Renee.

'Pretty little thing you've got here Rollins.' Somehow he managed to move himself, rolled to the side. There in front of him, her face pinched in his massive hand Batista had her. He'd found her. 'Why did you try to hide her? Did you think we'd try and take her?' he looked down at her, stroked her cropped hair like she was a pet. 'I do like her Rollins. Maybe we'll take her back with us. Lay her down and see just what she can do.'

Seth tore from the ground, blind rage was stopped by careful arms.

'Seth no!'

Brie held onto him so tight he could have torn her arms from the sockets. 'Seth stop! He'll hurt her! You have to stop!'

'Listen to her Rollins,' Batista hissed, he ran his nose up the side of Renee's face. She tried to jolt away, but his arms were so tight around her neck the strain was too much. 'So soft, so gentle, it would be so easy to break this fragile neck. Doesn't that sound familiar Bella?'

Brie's face crumpled but somehow, she kept her cool. Her fingers gripped a little tighter around that razor.

'Come quietly, and I won't kill her. I'll keep her, I think. I like this one. But she'll live if you're a good pup Rollins.'

Renee didn't look afraid. It confused him. Rather than scared, she seemed pissed off. She gave him a weak smile, and then, without any other thought; she swung her right fist back. Still gloved and studded, it smashed into Batista's balls. For a moment he didn't seem to feel it. Then his face started to turn blue, pain rolled his eyes up – she hadn't let go, and squeezed now as hard as she could. His grip on her slackened and Renee turned in his grasp, hand still crushing, and smashed her forehead against his. She fell back onto her ass, and he stumbled back, clutched his head in a haze.

Seth ran forward.

'Here!' Brie cried, and threw that razor one more time. He caught it between those bound fingers, flicked it open as he went. In the old days, he was known for lightness – he could climb any wall, he could move without being seen. But he wanted Batista to know what was coming for him. He wanted him to know who was sending him straight to hell. The razor sliced through the air. It slashed the pectoral, cut a deep thick line. Blood spurted. Batista stared in shock, a hand caught Seth's wrist. Tried to stop him; but nothing would.

'You knock at the devil's door who do you think is going to answer?' Seth snarled. His other hand found Batista's neck, shoved against his Adam's apple. The animal chocked, spluttered, but Seth didn't stop. He crushed slowly, just so he could see the life drain from the monster's eyes.

'Don't kill him.'

Renee.

He heard her, through the red and the black. She wasn't asking. But he was listening. He relaxed his grip a little, moved back, kicked hard against the chest wound. The body fell back, down into the rubble of another lost building. Seth spat his own blood down after him, hit his knees and collapsed, but not into the dirt, but into her soft embrace. She held him close, stroked his hair from his face. Brie's hand on his shoulder; she was alright. They were all alright.

'Where's Randy?'

He muttered.

'Searching for his ear,' Brie gestured vaguely south. 'And possibly a finger or two.'

'But alive?'

'For now. If he doesn't bleed out. No first aid kits out in Buchanan. I'm sure if you listen close you can hear him hiss. Caught his tongue with the razor, near split it in two; he'll live up to his name forever now.'

Together, the girls pulled him to his feet and he didn't think twice about pulling them in. He embraced their strength. They'd fought unafraid, injured, defended one another. This was Shield. He could have held them forever. The warmth of the sunrise washed over them all, and he saw the blood on every face. Brie's eyes were near closed, her lip torn, but she still gave him a small smile. Respect.

'There! There it is brother! The key to the universe I can see it burning!' the whispers hit him like thunder and all eyes were cast down to the dirt floor, and what lay there, shining in the light. It must have come loose in the fight, fallen free from him.

'Is that...'

'Yep.'

'So you...you stole...'

'Yes I did.'

'No wonder he wants you dead.'

'Mhm...well it was just so pretty how could I resist?'

'What is it?'

Brie's barely there eyes practically shone. It was a strange thing to see as her lips finally curved into a smile, as she pressed them to the side of Seth's bearded face.

'You lunatic; you perfect lunatic.'

'Nah that's Dean.'

'Guys, what is it?' Renee tugged at Seth's beard for his attention. She hadn't taken her eyes away from it, captivated by its age, by how it seemed suited to the dirt, but in its dullness, still shone too bright for her.

'This...' he pulled his arms free from them, and moved forward. He picked it up in both hands, felt the weight and what had been done to take it, to protect it...what they'd suffered for what he'd done. He could hear the groans of Batista, the breathless swearing of Randy, and turned to those left standing. 'This is the Kennedy Title...this is what gives the Authority power. Whoever has it is entitled to the town and its territories. The Game was passed it by the old Authoritarians...a monster like him has no right to decide the lives of others.' He ran a hand over the old gold, and hefted it round to slip back into the sling he'd worn under his clothes. It made him stand up straight that was for sure, despite his injuries. 'Few know about it, less saw it. I only knew it existed when I...when I was less agreeable.' He muttered. 'Took it when I came back, I had to.'

Renee moved forward and put a hand on his shoulder, 'So now what? We keep running?'

'Roman and Dean will be looking for us here now. We need to stay alert.' Brie peered round, the razor half out and grinned like a half moon. 'The Authority know we're here too. We leave before your brothers find us, and we'll be back at step one. We'll need to defend ourselves...we're going to need help, and not the special kind.' She nodded vaguely over to where the Rhodes brothers were now tormenting the fallen Batista. 'Dolph said he was part of a rebellion...maybe we can find them through him, they might help us.'

'I think I'd rather rip his betraying tongue out of his skull.'

'Seth – I don't think he meant to hurt us...well maybe you, but not us. He said he wanted to protect someone from the Authority. Sometimes we do stupid shit to save the people we care about.'

'Seriously woman can you think badly about someone?'

Renee grinned as best she could, 'I think terrible things about you.'

'Do you now...'

'Get a room.'

Suddenly Renee's cheeks turned pink as she realized what she said and how it had come out. Her hands flew to her mouth and she started to giggle. They all did. She turned toward the sunrise. It was something special to be shared, and she couldn't think of better people to be with. But as she looked into that golden orb in the sky, that magical thing she'd not seen for years, and all she could see in it, were those summer eyes, and his slow smile. She returned it. Everything was falling into place.

_I'll see you soon Roman. I've so much to tell you._


	43. Already Dead

**((A big thank you to reviewers old and new who have constantly given me their support and kind comments throughout this story! This is one of my favourite chapters I have uploaded, and I hope you all enjoy it!))**

**MULLAH JUNK EMPORIUM || KENNEDY**

He was sure that he could see something, something shiny above his eyes. It was an endless light; it swayed back and forth like the dozens around it, knocked by the unstoppable force meeting the unmoveable object. Dean was the force, he had to be, and from his spot on the floor, dazed and fucking confused, his hands pushed him up without thought and slammed him back into the goliath that challenged him. Lost among the clutter and the madness, somewhere, was Roman. He'd lost track somehow of where his friend was somewhere between the sixteenth and thirtieth blows to the head. But every single one he laughed. He fucking _laughed_.

He was having such a good ol' time.

Lesnar staggered back. He didn't know how to handle this, he couldn't move fast enough to think how to stop the gremlin which crawled over his body onto his back, whose teeth ripped into his swollen ear.

Oh his _scream_. It was delicious. Somehow the monster grabbed Dean with those great fists and hurled him away. He landed hard, back bent against a broken cabinet. Sweet pain, perfect agony – old friends you visit too fucking often. There was blood in his teeth, it painted those nicotine whites a different kind of sick. But he grinned. He grinned and he laughed through the lines of saliva and blood. His eyes were pitted black and puffed, body snapped and buckled as he twisted in place and somehow was back on his feet.

'Here beastie beastie beastie,' he whistled, hand gestured toward him.

He was fucking _electric_; he felt the static off his own skin and the fire in the eyes of Lesnar. The Beast, he was a fucking animal all right. All the better to break and rein in. This circus of sweet hate and blinding pain was his game. This was what Dean Ambrose did best. He liked the feeling as he moved and he took the punches to the gut, as he was flung across the room once again. He slammed into shelves; hit the floor, as all manner of curiosities rained down on him. China smashed. Metal bent. Glass bit his skin. The shelves hit down hard, too heavy to shift. Lesnar, breathless, bloody from the ear and forehead, snarled and wiped spit from his own mouth; he stood straight, piggy eyes searched the room and somehow fell upon the prone body of Roman Reigns.

A bark of victory and he snatched the big dog from the floor, heaved him up by one hand and dragged him against the wall, sat him up, straightened his limp head, slapped him so hard his eyes flickered.

'You in there Reigns? You need to see this. You really do. I'm going to eat your little mutt alive. You're going to watch me. Going to stop me Reigns? Going to try? Huh?' another slap. 'Fucking try!'

Each blow was harder than a wrecking ball.

From his place under the shelves, Dean roared, spat, snarled, saliva around his lips, dripped bloody to the floor in his frenzy. Right arm pinned under him, he could barely move, but he fucking tried. He bucked and he twisted, he shoved and pushed and even _prayed_.

'Don't you touch him! Don't you fucking touch him!'

'See him Reigns?' Lesnar gripped his brother by the hair, right at the roots. A flash of pain surged through Roman's face. Under his bloody mask, his eyes were open, only just, but he could see what was there, could see Dean trapped, could feel Lesnar's stale breath on his face. 'Like a lamb to fucking slaughter. Thought he could challenge me, me! No one can beat me.' He was so close to him, as if he might open his jaws and rip off Roman's cheek.

Dean's body was contorted. He felt fresh torment as his shoulder stretched. But he could not blame anyone other than himself, as with a strangled yell, he pulled. There was a sickening crunch. His arm rolled free from the socket. Free from his body. With his feet and other arm, he clawed free of the wreckage. Stood shaking, sweating, breathless. He gripped his own shoulder, and never taking his eyes off Lesnar, licked his own lips, knocked his neck to the side as he threw his own arm back into place.

'Sick fuck.' Lesnar snarled.

But Dean just smiled, swayed a little left to right. Behind him he could hear Truth, ignorant to what was occurring behind a wall of timber and metal. Whatever sexy beast he was bringing to life, she had all his attention. Just as well. Should he enter the fray, no one was safe. Friend or foe, Truth was blind in battle. This was _his_ fight. There, next to Lesnar was Roman; half-dead and losing it by the second, every shallow breath rose Dean's temperature. He felt like he'd been hit by some kind of lightning, the hand of every devil in every church had shot him full of life just so he could fight to the fucking death. It was a sweet deal; maybe he'd shaken the wrong hand at the wrong time some day in the past. Later, when this was over, dead or alive, he was going to hurt.

Lesnar released Roman's hair, and the big man slumped to the side as Lesnar and Dean Ambrose faced one another.

'I know who you are now Lesnar,' Dean said, he took his hands to his sides, pretended to draw guns and fired off shots with his fingers, 'you're the lil' bitch the Game sends to fuck up assholes for real when his own can't do it. It's all about the fucking _green_,' he rubbed his fingers together. 'But now? Now you don't have Paulie to point you in a direction and shout _destroy_! What do you do Brock? You fucking beautiful thing? Look at you! Just look at you.'

He shook his head, saddened by what was in front of him. 'You could have been something incredible, gone against the machine and bulldozed it into the fucking ground. But instead...you chose us. And beastie...that was the wrong choice.'

Thunder rumbled through the air between them. So alike, so fucking different the maniac in both of them was sinking in and sinking through, control was lost, and they collided. Harder than any atom explosion, their fists flew, teeth bit. Dean caught the Beast's neck between his teeth, ripped. The roar was deafening as thunder. Lesnar somehow wrapped his great arms around Dean's chest, pinned his arms to his sides and squeezed.

Breath started to slow, wheezed, ribs compressed, buckled. His lungs – oh those iron lugs – he could feel them burn, but air was a sweet luxury. It hit him then, perhaps, that this was what dying really felt like. It hurt. This was what they'd done to so many, so long ago. They'd snatched them from life and crushed them down into compact graves in the dirt. His last and only sunrise had come on the day he died. How fucking poetic. Vision started to haze, eyes somehow found Roman. Saw him there against that wall. Lesnar's grip constricted. His feet started to twitch, body jolted, systems failed, is eyes on Roman as the lights started to die. Those fucking pretty lights.

So this was failure. So this was death.

He could feel something run salty down his face, love and hate building to some climax; Dean's body fell limp, eyes rolled back and he was dropped to the floor, right in front of his brother.

'How did it feel Reigns?' Lesnar asked, his own breathing laborious. 'How did it feel?' he was right in front of him, hands either side of Roman's head, face barely an inch from his own. 'I took him away from you Reigns. I crushed the life out of him, and it felt, so fucking good.' Hot breath against his face, he could feel the sweat. He could feel the intensity burn, and his own eyes could see the body on the ground, twisted and unmoving.

How did it feel?

How did it feel?

It felt...it felt slow. Dean. Dean fucking Ambrose...Roman's head slowly turned. His neck crunched – bone, or the fracture of his ribs, his heart? His brother, his little brother. Eyes, a shade darker, found the face of Brock Lesnar. He shook, couldn't stop, the pain – maybe. But no, something more. There was something inside, rising. A heat building from his gut to his throat, so poisonous it made him sick. He could feel it burn his tongue, it was in his muscles and stung as lactic acid. He could feel it, he could feel it coming. He'd been holding it back. He'd tried so hard.

But now?

How did it feel?

Lesnar moved, scrambled back to Dean.

'Don't touch him.' Roman's lips barely moved, words barely audible above the sounds coming from the workshop. He was ignored, and Lesnar hefted up the dead weight onto his shoulder. He started to search among the clutter, what for Roman didn't know. His eyes were stuck on Dean. His arms swung with every movement, cut up, still bleeding. But then...but then, Lesnar turned, jagged metal in hand. It splintered to a flint tip, sharp as the smirk the Beast wore.

'Oh I'll do more than that Reigns. I was planning on tearing you to pieces. But,' he paused, raised the sharp point and drew it's blade down Dean's bare back. The skin ripped easily and the body almost shuddered. Lesnar however didn't seem to notice and turned his back once more, to carry his brother away. 'I think I'll start with him...then come back for you.'

Dean.

'Dean!' Roman tried to pull himself up. 'Dean!'

The body swayed back toward the gap in the wall, that black space he'd been dragged through. His eyes were playing tricks. They had to be. He could have sworn those fingers, those limp fingers, curled together, and left one middle finger raised at him.

Dean?

'I'm not dead!' Roman roared. All of his strength surged to his lungs.

Lesnar stopped, turned a little to look at him.

'I'm not dead Lesnar. You haven't beaten me,' he breathed and somehow, with everything left inside his body, he managed to heave himself up. His legs were unsteady, but something was on his face, something different. A smile, a cold, cruel smile. There was something dark in every man. Some held onto it forever, tried to hold it back, rein it in, because the man they became when it was released...was something monstrous. They all felt it deep inside.

The Shield were murderers. There was no denying it. No hiding it. Hundreds had fallen at their hands. He'd sworn off killing. He didn't want to do it, hated the animal he was when blood was near, when he could see it on his brothers. One more body.

'You haven't won!'

Lesnar had completely turned to face him now.

'I took your brother from you,' he snarled. 'I don't need to pulverise you. You're already dead.'

'Maybe.' Roman slowly raised his arm, it shook as he pointed. 'But he isn't.'

Dean moved.

His arms reached up, wrapped tight around the thick neck of the man who held him, turned his body and locked his legs and ankles around his chest. He screamed, some horrific banshee shriek as he clung on, all of his strength, all of his core, his heart, every cell of his being constricted against the throat and chest of the man who'd killed him.

Roman staggered forward, and flung himself toward Lesnar. His arms wrapped around the waist and the momentum threw them all backward, out through the hatch, back into the dank darkness of the Halls of Fame. The wetness of blood and the drip of water dampened his skin. There was a hideous crack as they hit something solid. Dean's face in the near pitch cramped and he whistled breath through his teeth, but he didn't let go. Lesnar staggered again, managed to shake Roman off, and moved back to the pillar, slammed back again and again. Dean...

'Lesnar!' Roman was on his feet, looked down at that golden fist.

_Wanna know why I call ya Superman Rome?_

He ran, fist levelled back, and smashed straight through the air, straight between Lesnar's piggy eyes.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Over and over, blood and bits of flesh stuck to his knuckles.

Lesnar fell. He landed straight down onto Dean who finally unwrapped himself, coughed and wheezed. Roman grasped his brother by the hand, dragged him out from under the body. He didn't waste time, didn't say a single fucking word. He grasped Dean in his arms, and refused to let go. His arms tight, as if holding the two of them together, keeping the pieces from hitting the floor. Dean's head was against his neck. He'd almost lost him, he'd almost lost everything. Roman Reigns, was nothing without his brothers. He couldn't exist, couldn't function, and the seconds he'd believed Dean had been snatched away...every one of them had been a lifetime. Dean almost seemed surprised by the protective embrace, but grateful; he let his own arms hold his brother. Their knees were on the floor, cold and wet. The man next to them was alive. But it didn't matter.

What mattered was that they were both still there. Dean wasn't dead.

'You scared the fuck out of me shithead,' Roman muttered.

'Sorry bro,' he whispered, genuine, for once in his fucking life.

'Thought you'd gone and left me for good.'

'Think I did...for a minute. Then I realized I'd left you behind. Couldn't do that,'

'Never leave a brother behind?'

'Nah it's just I know you'd guilt trip me to the gates of hell.'

Roman laughed. He couldn't help it. Everything hurt.

'You look like shit Rome.'

'Thanks.'

'Dunno if your waitress will want to kiss you lookin' like that.'

Roman blinked at him, opened his mouth to say something. Instead, he pulled back from Dean a little, and smacked him across the top of the head. Renee – she'd escaped his thoughts in those moments, perhaps had fled to the back of his mind for safekeeping. Wherever she was, she was alright. She'd said so herself. How, or even why she'd made it this far, he was thankful. As grateful as he was to whoever had decreed Dean should still live. The thought of her, next to him in that truck, the rain hammering down seemed so very long ago now.

Too long.

'Rude,' Dean muttered, but grinned a little when Roman ruffled his greasy hair. 'Think we both look like shit?'

'For definite,'

'Think Truth has fixed us up some pretty wheels?'

As if on cue, completely oblivious to the carnage, Truth himself appeared in the hatch, the light streamed through behind him, made him a silhouette with his paper hat. It took a moment for eyes to adjust, to see him properly, but when they finally did, it was clear that the other man was not happy. Not happy at all.

'What you done to my house?'

Dean heaved Roman's arm over his shoulders to give him support, and together they moved toward the light. Lesnar could live; if he chose to. Unconscious in the Halls, the rats would probably find him before he could move again...or the rebels would find the man who had killed so many of their own. He was fodder for the darkness. That was fine. Just fine, Dean had had a whale of a time, and his adrenaline was still booming. Being dead wasn't so bad, it was kind of peaceful. But not something he'd consider taking up as a hobby.

'Someone gate crashed,' Dean muttered, and managed to push them both past Truth. 'Could have used a little help.'

'Didn't hear nothin',' Truth objected. 'Lucky Lil' Jimmy didn't! Otherwise you'd be answering to him, and you know what happens when he's pissed off.'

'You got our rig ready?'

Once again the sheer mention of making something that when _vroom_ seemed to completely shift R-Truth's made. His creased frown gave way to a blissful smile and he near hugged himself with glee.

'Oh she ready brother. She lookin' pretty too. Had all the bits and pieces, just had to find and put 'em together. She gonna run like the wind, sound like it too!'

'Truth, I need a fucking drink,' Dean muttered and helped Roman to settle among the trash in a moth-eaten armchair, 'cigarettes, gimme gimme, don't be selfish, I know you got a hoard hidden somewhere – presents from Natalya's ladies for helping them out. Give a brother a little lovin'.' Exhausted, he perched himself on the arm, and allowed his head to rest on Roman's. Too close, too close to being too far apart until the end of days. It surprised him how much it hurt. They'd come devastatingly near to death before, but until that moment, losing himself completely...he didn't realize how scared he was. How scared they all were. Roman had always been a pillar of salt, but he'd seen it in his eyes...the fear. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but the truth was clear on their torn and tattered bodies – the Shield wasn't invincible anymore.

Truth, who had a lollipop in his mouth, took it out and pointed it accusingly at the two of them.

'You storm my home, demand my help and now want my shit? Hell no, brother, hell no.'

'You can have some of Roman's hair.'

'Deal.'

'Hey hey what?' Roman jolted away from contact, and stared at the two of them. 'You're not coming near me.'

'Too late, deal's made.'

'Didn't see you shake on it.'

'Street dogs don't shake.'

As if on cue, the two of them turned their heads away and spat onto the floor.

'Ain't no handshake in the world made that means what that does.'

'That you two are filthy bastards?'

'Oh Rome...you flatter us so.' Dean nudged him affectionately with a shoulder, though his eyes were a little too shiny to be trusted. 'Give the man a lock of that beautiful thoroughbred mane and we can get pissed. And food – you got any food?'

Roman's stomach surged. After everything that had happened, food had been so far at the back of his mind that he hadn't eaten for what felt like weeks. That promised steak back at _Mama's_ seemed a little too good in his imagination. T-Bone, done just how you like it, Renee had promised. But he'd never been presented with it.

Hunger, that carnal base instinct made him cramp.

'Food sounds good...'he was compromising without saying the words.

Somewhere in the old darkness, Lesnar lay. That monster they'd felled, if only for now. The pain that had been caused, the grief, the relief, it all washed away the moment Truth snapped a pair of scissors and took that generous piece of hair from Roman Reign's scalp. They were led to the workshop, and he fed them, watered them with his own shine that set your eyes on fire. The whiskey was too hot to handle and soon their tongues were as loose as Dean's bones.

'See...see Rome here...think I'm bleeding out in the back end fellas, Rome here, he's in love, with this waitress. It's fucking adorable.'

'Did NOT say that Ambrose. You making up shit again. You got a bleed...on your brain.'

'Ha! Ha! See! See how he denies it! Big Dog gone a big bone for blondie. She's blond. I can tell, gotta be blond...she is blond right?' Dean was near standing on the work table, dirt and blood stomped into the wood, and he pointed at his best friend with glee. 'I sees it Rome, in your eyes, when you're thinkin' about here, you get this look.' He did a peculiar face that looked cross between a kicked puppy and a fucked off bulldog. 'Like you wanna punch me in the face – that one! That one right there!'

'Swear to God Ambrose I'll feed you to Lesnar if you don't shut up.' Roman was half slumped on the table, Truth behind him, beside him, moved around him as he bandaged and taped as best he could. Soon he'd be like Dean – held together with spit and duct tape. 'Truth – Truth – don't listen to him. He's making shit up.'

'What's her name?' Truth mused, his head half-drunken on Roman's shoulder as he tried to clumsily stitch up a tear on his arm. Nothing sanitary or healthy about this. 'What's her name Rome? Hey, hey Jimmy! Roman Reigns has got a girlfriend!'

Should Truth have not been conducting a delicate medical procedure, Roman would have grabbed him by the dreadlocks and stuffed his head in the nearest oil drum.

'Yeah! Hey Lil' Jimmy!' Dean put his arm round the air. 'Look how fuckin' drunk he is.' He snorted and near fell off the table. 'Look Roman's gone all shy!'

He glared at the two of them, and his head slumped down into his arms. He pretended to sleep at first, but it didn't take long for him to drift, for him to fall into that deep well of unconsciousness that the whiskey created. It was warm and sweet and safe. He didn't need to hear the antics of the two men who still partied in the middle of a Mullah junk stop. If he'd been smart he would have stayed awake, would have caught them in the act as they propped furniture and lamp shades and toy dogs on his body. But that would have ruined their fun and his rest.

He was fucking exhausted.

It had been so long, since he'd actually slept. He'd always been so fitful with Seth, eyes half-open, body ready to move. Always aware, ready to pounce, ready to run...Lesnar could have charged back in at any moment and it wouldn't have mattered. He was at peace in his slumber, that sweet sleep he'd wished for when he'd seen those stars above AJ's grave. And he dreamed...oh to fucking dream. It was a luxury not afforded to the salt of the earth and the stray dogs who ran its. And how he dreamed; beautiful things. _He saw a sunrise, what he thought was one, what he pictured it to be – all pink and red skies, flames burning the earth. The sun was a flower, it bloomed across the sky and kissed with such warmth. The chill of Kennedy couldn't touch this dream, this beautiful illusion. There – the world was green, and blue and red and white and every colour beside grey and black. _

_And he could see her. _

_She waited beneath that sunrise, sat in a meadow of burned out souls and stalks. Her face was browned by the heat, cut by scars, her eyes distant. But she saw him, and her arms were open to him, waited for him. _

_He wanted to go to her. But the distance was too great. He felt something inside reach out to her, wanted the comfort of that embrace she offered as if she were some mother. But no, not a mother, her face, her eyes, her lips wanted him close._

_He wanted to taste the dawn in her lips, and look into the sunrise of her eyes._

_But she was too far away. The ground he trod was brown and black, bones grew from the ground, great iron bars to stop him wandering into her world, her arms. Too far away...too safe. She was safe where she was, broken, but safe. If he broke down those bars...the death that whispered to him, that black and red fog which possessed him would find her. _

_Far away was safe._

_But those lips, those eyes..._

'Aw look, the Big Dog is dreaming,' Dean leaned forward from where he lay on his belly on that work top, a hand stretched out and clumsily petted Roman's head. The other man didn't even flinch, out for the count. 'Hope he's thinkin' of something nice.'

'You coulda died Ambrose,' Truth said. He'd settled on a chair, elbows on a table, hands cupped as he clumsily tried to light two cigarettes between his lips. He managed after a couple of attempts and passed one to Dean who greedily stuffed it into his mouth. 'Don't pretend that didn't scare you. Can see it.'

'Look who's the lucid one!' Dean accused; inhaled and exhaled in an annoyed fashion. 'So what? I'm alive.'

'And what would have happened to big man if you weren't? Huh? What's with the fucking death wish? I see your eyes, you got that high in you again – that snappy shit, ain't been there since bedlam and now she's back. That lady in your head – the one who made ya talk crap and bite and claw. She there in you again I see it. You let her back in Ambrose?'

Dean flicked the ash from the cigarette at Truth irritably, curled in on himself and smoked great puffs of pollution around him, as if he could make a cocoon out of it.

_She never left you did she Dean? I poured her in your ear when we took you apart and fed you to her to give her strength._

He closed his eyes, tried to sleep, but all he could hear was the laughter that cut through the night of Cottonwood, the laugh of the Eater of Worlds, the man whose heart he'd eaten. He could see his face. He could see his smile. His words sank through his skin like the beak of a buzzard. Love made you mad. Love drove you insane. It made you kill and it made you do your very worst. He loved so strongly it made him the monster they'd whispered to him. He'd left the Wyatt Lot. He'd killed the man who'd tried to control the devil inside. But all the incense and all the brain washing was for nothing.

Sister Abigail had flesh and bones once. But she was something more. The name he could give the psychosis which penetrated his mind, which thirsted for blood and violence and sin and danger. It was the creature that craved life as much as it lusted for death.

Roman had almost died.

She'd ensured he didn't.

But the price was heavy; soon, he would kill again. He had to control it. Whatever dreams danced through Roman's skull, he hoped, he fucking _prayed_ they were of pretty girls, of happy hopes and good memories. He sank down into the darkness of his own sleep, fitful to the sound of the buzzards...


	44. The Blood Of Others

**((Hello peoples! Here is a new chapter for you all! We are returning to Buchanan now and to our little group of misfits. I hope that you all enjoy this new segment. Thank you all for your views and please let me know what you think!))**

**BUCHANAN**

He was curled up, blood on his lips, eyes shut. He could have been dead but that would have just been inconvenient, it would have been just their luck...and the fact that she was even thinking like that showed she'd already been around Seth Rollins too long. She didn't want to think badly of anyone...but it was becoming so _easy_. Here, in the heat of Buchanan, as that early sun washed over their burned out faces, she could see the devils in her friends.

In Brie's eyes was that hardness, the steel wall she threw up when violence spat at her. There was nothing else there now, just that impenetrable barrier. She'd smiled, and she'd offered words of comfort, they'd even laughed, but the vulnerable woman who'd cried, who'd told her story was invisible now. She'd faded to the dust that kicked around their heels. Brie seemed to know that she needed to be something more than just the woman. Renee...was perhaps still figuring it out. What more could she be than herself? There next to her was this burning effigy of strength and loss, what spark could she hold? How could she even keep up? Brie had held her own against men – _animals_, they weren't deserving of being called men...or even animals – _monsters_. She'd battled against demons. She was still alive.

Renee? With a twisted ankle, she'd been caught in the dirt.

And then?

She'd tasted that liquid fire that she could see in her friend. She'd felt it roll down her throat and spite her spirit as she'd crushed Batista's balls. When she'd slammed the ball of her forehead straight into his...the pain was unimaginable but forgotten almost as soon as they both hit the floor. There was a rush, an incredible high that _hurt_. It really hurt.

But what she'd done, it was gone. It was a moment. But for Brie everything she'd done was reaction. It was built into her. She was one step away from the dark side and she knew it.

And Seth...

She couldn't quite look at him now. She'd been caught up with their victory. But now he was there, out of the corner of her eye. He was there and he wouldn't look at her either. Because despite the violence, despite the two men who'd been defeated and laid out by the three of them, of the connection they'd all had as they watched that sun come up, she couldn't get what he'd done out of her head. Seth Rollins had kissed her. How did she feel about that? She didn't know why he'd done it. Maybe what bothered her though was how _tender_ he'd been, the words he'd said. Seth Rollins was an asshole who didn't care whose feelings he hurt. He said what he thought and she respected him for that. But he'd kissed her. He'd held her face in gentle hands; he'd told her nothing was bigger than her.

At that moment he'd surprised her, she hadn't known what to say, how to react. Only now as she looked down at the unconscious body of Dolph did she feel anything. She should have felt for Dolph – for what he'd done, for his betrayal, but she couldn't. It was just Seth, there in her thoughts. She looked across at him as he started to heave Dolph out of the truck. His wounded body was getting stronger – she could see it. The longer he was in the element, the quicker he was becoming. The illness he'd suffered, it was still there, but he was battling back.

It occurred to her, that Seth Rollins had been lost for a while, he'd been without purpose. Maybe that was what had made him sick. He'd been separated from one of his brothers, worried, sick, scared shitless and wasn't used to that feeling. She'd seen it before – the horrid ghost that could hang over you. Sometimes, on slow days, she'd catch Shawn like that. He'd stare emptily at the grill, or he'd stand outside for hours. He was...such a lonely man. He'd told her so many stories of his youth, the incredible life he'd had...and now she knew it was the Game. Hunter, he'd called him, as if he were a brother. The Game – this cruel dictator had left his friend behind, and Shawn had been lost in the dark. When she'd arrived, it had taken weeks to break through to him.

Seth?

Had she broken through? Was what he'd done a consummation of all the frustrations, some delusion from the sickness?

Dolph's body hit the floor and Seth's head half turned, his hair in his face, beard tangled, sweat ran down his face and he looked straight at her. Eye to eye, locked; those eyes, they were every colour. He looked exhausted, and he looked ashamed, and he broke the hold they shared. Renee looked away. What did she feel? Did it even matter? She could feel inside that it did matter...like she'd almost done something wrong. She hadn't even kissed him back – too shocked to even move – so what did it matter? It did. It really did because she didn't understand.

Why did he do it?

There was a resounding slap as Seth's hand connected with Dolph's cheek. Renee flinched, her cheek felt sore as if he'd hit her instead. Brie moved round and helped Seth move Dolph away from the truck a little. Behind them all she could hear whispers and jumped when the Rhodes promptly appeared on the truck. They crawled over it like insects, disappeared inside the cab, started her up and took her away, Mick's body still in the back.

'They'll take him somewhere safe,' Brie muttered before Renee even had a chance to object. 'In the meantime...'

It seemed her hands had rejuvenating powers, because when _she_ hit Dolph, his eyes opened with a snap. He looked worse for wear, but it was superficial, and he moved his hand to his face, clearly not entirely sure where he was. Seth knotted a hand in that blond hair so tight he near lifted him from the floor, his other fist clenched, hovered just above.

'Give me a reason not to,' he snarled.

Dolph squirmed and tried to kick his way free, but Brie placed a booted foot on his ankle.

'Try that again and she'll break your foot,' Seth threatened, and it was clear from Brie's expression that she wouldn't hesitate to do it. 'Talk. Now.'

The blond man looked up at her, silhouetted against the sun.

'What are you doing? I helped you, I warned you I -,'

'You betrayed us to those bastards. I don't know how, I don't know when, but you led them here, told them where we'd be. Oh we heard you Ziggler. I always knew you were a snake, but I didn't realize just how low you'd sunk.' Seth slammed his fist down.

There was a crunch of cartilage. Renee turned away, eyes shut. _He deserved that_ she told herself, but she knew she could repeat it a hundred times and she wouldn't be convinced. The Rhodes brothers had questioned what Dolph had said...whether or not he was letting them down, or trying to save them all. He was trying to protect someone. But who?

Dolph coughed and his hands went up to shield his face as Seth readied for another blow.

'Wait! Stop!'

Seth cocked his head to one side, considered, then hit him again.

'Seth -,' Renee placed her hands on his shoulders, 'please -,'

'One more time,' Dolph's nose broke. Seth had this half smile on his face, like the wicked curve of the moon. 'You're lucky she's here Dolph. You really are. If it was just myself, just Brie here, there wouldn't be questions. Just pain.'

Renee pulled him back, pulled him off of the sunken man on the floor.

'Dolph, you said you did this to protect someone, that you wanted to take her away from it all. Who were you talking about? Why did you betray us?'

He looked at her uneasy, unsteady, his eyes kept darting to Seth with his still clenched fists. His breathing was ragged and she couldn't help but be reminded of the shaking corpse of a human she'd dragged to safety from that warehouse. For a moment, her eyes moved to Seth, but then back to Dolph.

'Please Dolph, if you tell us the truth, I won't let him hit you again.'

And if he lied, well she didn't really need to mention what would happen.

'Who is she Dolph?'

For a second or so, he kept silent, but the threat of Seth, who loomed over him, just about to hit, hand on his shirt, seemed to loosen his tongue.

'Her!' he pointed. 'It's her!'

It seemed as if he were gesturing to Renee, until she realized that it was Brie. All heads turned toward her. Her face was still hard as stone, but there was the flicker of confusion in her eyes.

'What about me?'

'You don't know,' he almost laughed, 'you never knew and it was staring you in the face the whole time, and you didn't guess!'

Brie moved, she shoved Seth aside, Renee too; her hand was gripped on his shirt, straight razor at his throat, ready to make him bleed.

'Brie!'

Renee was ignored.

'What about me?' Brie hissed, the blade dug in, squeezed blood over that razor. Dolph gasped from the pain, tried to break free, but Brie didn't let up. 'Tell me! What don't I know?'

'He's alive!' Dolph screamed. Brie froze, they all did. The only sound, was Dolph's harsh breathing. Somehow he knocked that razor away, his hands on his throat. 'Fuck...fuck...'

'You're lying.'

'No,' Dolph shook his head, his fingers tried to rub the blood away, 'No I'm not. The rebellion...we're known as the Yes Movement by the Authority.'

'Yes...' Brie was on her knees, the razor hit the floor. 'Yes. That's what he used to say to me...he told me we were so used to saying no, saying that the time had come for us...to seize our future...to start saying yes, yes, yes.' she raised her arms, index fingers to that early sky and she pointed, punctuated with each _yes_. Her arms fell to her sides, head slumped, 'he's alive...he's alive and he didn't come for me...'

'Yes he did.' Dolph somehow had managed to sit up, 'He escaped that hole the Shield threw him in. He found me. We worked together a few times...he told me to watch you Brie. To stay in the shadows, to keep you safe, I did what I had to, did as I was asked to thank an old friend for dragging me from the shit company I'd kept. I watched you Brie, I did what he wanted...and I knew the time had come to step in, when I was told to watch Renee as well...I couldn't let you kill her, because I knew if you did, I would have failed.'

'You're too late Dolph, I've already taken the blood of others.'

'But not of someone innocent,' he protested. 'I couldn't see any other option here. I would have traded every single innocent life in the world to save you. I made my promise, but I hurt him too. I've watched you for so long, that I've loved you every single second.' He was ashamed; you could see it in those eyes.

There was the sound of a foot scuffing the dirt, and Renee found herself looking toward Seth, who'd turned his back, was walking away. Brie had had her revelation; she needed to talk to Dolph now. She and Seth...they weren't needed, and Renee needed a truth of her own. She touched Brie's shoulder tenderly as she could, and moved off after Seth. He made a good pace under the hot sun. His bare chest and shoulders were lily cut bruises and blood, but it seemed to glow under the heat rather than burn. He wanted as far away as he could, but she caught him, her fingers in his trailing ones, jerked him to an abrupt halt, forced him to look at her with those opal eyes.

'Don't you walk away from me,' she snapped. 'Don't you _ever_ walk away from me Seth Rollins.'

He was half turned, body seemingly caught in indecision, whether to just leave, or to stay and confront what had happened, what he'd done, how he'd confused her so. He wasn't being fair to her. His matted hair was scraped behind his ears, he couldn't avoid seeing her now, she'd pushed herself against that rising sun, made herself the projection which was the centre of everything. He faced her now, because she made him.

She pulled her hand away from his as his fingers started to curl around hers.

'Seth what are you doing? You kissed me...why did you do that? Why in all these seven hells and heavens did you kiss me? Of everything you could have said, could have done, I would have preferred you to hit me because I would understand it better than how gentle you were...you're Seth Rollins...he's not a gentle man, from everything you've ever said you don't have a tender heart...so why did you kiss me Seth?'

His eyes almost seemed watery – it must have been the light blinding him. He sniffed, kicked at the ash that coated the earth. It blew on the ever constant light breeze and smudged against their skin. He cast his head down, and rubbed his nose with a hand.

'You found me.' He shrugged and almost sounded as if he were about to laugh. 'You fucking found me, of everyone else in the entire world. I was _dying_ Renee. Kane was cutting out his favourite pieces, carving me up like a pig, and out of it all there you were. Everything that's happened – you wouldn't fucking leave me. The only people who ever stood by Seth Rollins, were Roman Reigns and Dean Ambrose. No woman has ever stayed this long, has ever cared like you have. You're something more than just the waitress Roman picked up from a diner...and he doesn't know that yet. He has no fucking idea how incredible you are.'

'You didn't answer me,' her voice was so small, firm, but quiet, as if she dreaded what he was going to say next.

Seth moved toward her. He took her two hands in his own, and ran his thumbs across the red stained studs. The gloves she'd strapped on seconds before she'd dragged him kicking and screaming into her life.

'I kissed you, Renee Young, because I didn't know if I was going to get the chance again. I thought that I was going to die. It seemed a better goodbye than any words; it seemed more fitting than a thank you. But I guess I was wrong. I guess, Seth Rollins, with his computer brain, got it wrong.'

He was being honest with her – but it wasn't that spite which drove headfirst like a spike, he was talking from that bleeding heart lost in his ribcage. She could hear it in his voice, she could see it in his eyes that he meant every word he said, and was struggling with it. He was scared about being so truthful to her.

'No,'

He almost seemed surprised by the word. Renee pulled her fingers free from his, they reached up and held his face, that steel jaw; gently, so gently. She stood on her tiptoes, and she pressed her lips against his. She felt his eyes widen, and pulled back quickly before his own lips could move.

'What was that?'

'That was my thank you, Seth Rollins. Thank you for this adventure, for this crazy, mad adventure. Thank you for your honesty, for showing me, that it doesn't matter who you are, any stupid human can be a hero once in a while. Thank you,' she stroked his cheek bone, winced at the slight chip she felt, 'thank you, you stupid bastard.'

Seth laughed at that, and held her hands against his face. Their smiles, they felt so real, mouths tired, eyes red, but there was something real here. Maybe she wouldn't realize it for days, weeks, months, years down the line, but that was the moment that Seth Rollins fell in love again, but not with a woman, with a sister.

'You know Roman's a lucky fuck.'

Renee blinked, 'Excuse me?'

'Don't play coy with me,' Seth accused, 'my brain may be on the blink, but I can see it. I know.'

'You know what?'

He shook his head, 'I'm not saying anything more.' He pulled free from her hands, his own raised in surrender as he started to wander back toward Brie and Dolph.

'Seth!'

She hurried after him, but his strides were longer and by the time she'd caught up, he was crouched next to Brie. They'd moved, back to the truck which had carried them to Buchanan, and which Renee now fondly found herself calling _Eden_. It was her little piece of happiness in the baron wasteland they'd found themselves in, and she couldn't think of a better name for that fine machine. Brie looked exhausted and elated all at once. Dolph now had a strip of fabric tied around his throat to stem the bleeding, and was propped up against the back of the truck; he looked displeased by Seth's reappearance, and visibly shrank away a little, probably worried he'd get hit again.

'I have to go to Kennedy, I have to find him.'

'No Brie, it's too dangerous.' Seth shook his head, 'You were right, Roman and Dean will be on their way here. It's better if we all stick together.'

'My husband is alive, Rollins. He's alive. Did you hear me? ALIVE.' She near screamed it into his ear and he almost tumbled over from the volume.

'Seth's right Brie.' Renee interrupted quietly, incurring a glare from her friend, 'Hear Seth out...he's the smartest of all of us. I'm sure he has a plan.'

They all turned to stare at Seth who shot her an annoyed glare, and cleared his throat. His hand rubbed his nose – was it a nervous tick, perhaps?

'If the Shield are reunited, we have a better chance of fighting our way to anywhere we want to go. But there's a chance we can find Bryan, get him a message. Mick was able to find us, and Dolph knows where the Yes Movement are.'

'If I go back -,'

'The Authority will know, I know. But maybe there's someone else who can go, who they won't be looking out for.'

'The Rhodes brothers,' Brie finished. They were out of sight and had been out of mind, but now they all found themselves peering about to try and find the scarred siblings. But there was nothing but sunlight and burned out bodies. 'But they will never leave Buchanan.'

Seth scratched the side of his face, 'Well, I technically wasn't thinking of them.'

'Then who?'

Seth pointed back into where the carnage of the fight had taken place. To where someone was sniffing and muttering, swearing and kicking; still looking for a missing piece.

'Orton? You crazy shit what's wrong with you? Batista shake your brain cells loose?'

'Hear me out,' Seth held his hands in front of him as if scared Brie might suddenly attack, 'I know Orton. He hates being told what to do, chances are he's only with the Authority because he's not found a reason to really hate them yet. We give him one, he'll not be ours, but he'll be willing to listen. He's a shit head who deserves to be fed his own scrotum, but if we can work it right, he'll do some of our dirty work without realizing it.'

'How in hell are we going to convince him we're on his side?' Renee asked, 'Need I remind you, Brie bit his ear off.'

'And a few fingers,' Brie added, a little too proud of herself.

'You're a sick bitch,' Seth pointed at her. 'But listen. Years ago, the Orton was the golden boy, but then he got a little too strong and the Game threw him aside in a bloody puddle. Now Orton's back – I think he's already playing a steady hand. He's put himself in a position that when the time is right he can strike, he's many things, but he's also a smart, conniving fucker.'

'So he's just waiting, looking for a reason...'

'What better reason than revenge?'

Renee perched herself on the back of the truck, her legs dangled next to Dolph's head and she found herself leaning back to lie down. The metal was hot and burned her skin, but there was the shadow of the canvas and she inched herself underneath, and found, to her pleasure, the cardboard box they'd stuffed with half the contents of her kitchen. The cookies in their tin were a little limp and a little sad, but she shimmied out and free and handed them out to everyone. God she was hungry. When had she eaten last? That toast...just before she'd encountered the Bella sisters.

'Are these white chocolate?' Seth sniffed the one he held suspiciously.

'I made them myself,' Renee said proudly, 'white chocolate and almond.'

They all took cautious bites, accompanied by a loud purr, and Lillian made an appearance from under the canvas. She'd obviously been a smart kitty and had taken shelter when the chaos had broken out. Renee mused over her pet as she slinked over her legs and stretched out, she rubbed Lillian's tummy, little pieces of crumb falling into her coat.

'So,' Seth finished his off and licked his fingers one at a time to salvage the chocolate, 'we need to start this sooner rather than later – you got any more of those blondie? – Operation Return To Origin...Now.'

'That was fucking lame Seth.'

'Dean always came up with the names ok?'

Renee was busy pulling food and water (warm, very warm) from the shelter of the truck when her fingers pulled something free. Paper, she blinked and shuffled her position so that she could read it. It must have been slipped in, and the writing was barely legible, but she squinted her eyes and tried to figure out the words.

_Miss Renee,_

_You don't know me. But you will. I've sent Mick with the breast (_best?_) intentions, and another pair of eyes is watching to keep you rafe (_safe?_). The men you've chosen as brains (_friends? Surely friends..._) are dangerous, but strong. I hope you find something inside of you, some strength in this fight, because you'll need to catch (_carry perhaps?_) the Shield. They're more broken than I could have feared, and being reunited won't be enough. They'll need something, someone to matter more than them, and I know you can be that bacon (_beacon? She was sure she wasn't bacon_). _

_Until we meet, Miss Renee, stay safe, say strong, and remember, no is the past, say yes to change._

_Daniel Bryan._

Renee folded up the letter, and slipped it into her pocket.

_You found me_.

Those had been Seth's words.

_Nothing is bigger_.

Oh Renee...what have you truly gotten yourself into? Something a little too massive, an adventure too big for her scope of imagination; it was a bloody world and she'd found herself clambering to from her knees to her feet with a fever that was more intense than that sun. She was changing. She was becoming something more than the woman. She bit into another cookie, and nodded slowly. Yes.

Yes.

Yes.


	45. Like Batman

**((Hey guys! Sorry for the delay! Here is our newest chapter for you guys. Thanks once again for your dedication and for keeping with the story! I hope that you're still enjoying what's going on. We're back to Dean and Roman for this one! Please let me know what you think!))**

**MULLAH || KENNEDY**

Metal twisted and curled and he wound it round, round, round, knotted it in on itself so it wouldn't come loose. He bent and pushed and he but so much pressure down in the gentlest of ways. He'd never handled something with such care. He'd never played so easy with something so sharp. He'd split it with his own two hands, he'd torn it into strips and now he cut his hands to ribbons of silver and red. Red – red as heat and red as love. He wouldn't let it be red as blood, he could blind himself if he tried hard enough. That was how he could stay him and he wouldn't fall down in the abyss of laughter and screams. Oh yes, general ignorance was key. He could be ignorant, dumb himself down. It was easy to do with an addled brain, and Dean was so very addled, so very confused.

What _was _Dean Ambrose?

He could play in the dirt all he wanted, he could imagine toys out of the pieces of trash and could make them fight and mate and be happy on the rotten floor. But for all the distractions it was this odd question in the back of his mind. He'd been asked it before, by Regal when they'd played together. The games...he could remember them all, the times he'd gotten questions wrong and the electrodes had fried his few brain cells – see sometimes, sometimes he went off track and he couldn't quite remember right and sometimes, yeah, sometimes...

Maybe he was born a dinosaur – a relic of the bloody past of Kennedy, not quite fitting in with the new psychological warfare. He belonged in a violent time, would have been at home swinging an axe and climbing the walls. He could look up at the old light above him and try and picture something better – because he'd never really known good. _Good_, what a word. What was the difference between Good and Evil? The Good thought they had a conscience. The Good thought that the cause that they were fighting for was just and fair, when the Evil fought for nothing more than greed. But what if Evil, true evil, was born in every heart?

What if it sat and it festered until it weakened the walls holding it aside? What if? What if?

He looked down at those hands of his, hands which had tortured, beaten and killed, hands which had fed him, hands which had loved and had nurtured and had carried the people he loved home. He was confused...so very confused. Were they the good guys? Were they bad? People had always believed the Shield were some concoction of the Authority, some mighty monster roused from its sleep to conquer and destroy. But he'd seen it as something more. They were three men who'd finally found where they belonged. Who'd found the family they'd all sought. They were good men to each other.

'What you got there Dean?'

He sat cross legged, elbows to knees, one hand draped low, fingers skimmed the ground, but the other held something between thumb and forefinger. It twisted as a stalk, brimmed up into a silver rose, slashed with curled red. He'd never had a chance to drink the Coke, only licked the droplets around its mouth; a new taste to him and one he wasn't sure he entirely liked. Roman was slumped up on that table still, his lips looked dry and his voice sounded cracked from where he'd snored all night. Dean's sleep had been less deep, troubled and short lived. His own eyes were red raw and depraved save for the softness. He held that rose up to the dusty electric light so that Roman could see above him, from where he was seated against the worktop, among the trash.

'I don't think all this is junk Rome. I see what Truth sees, it's like Seth always said – _what someone don't want is what some other dude can turn into something better_.'

'You made that?'

Dean nodded slowly, like a kid showing his favourite teacher something he was particularly proud of.

'Dean, that's...I didn't know you could do stuff like that.' Roman plucked the tin rose from his brother's hand and admired it. 'Brother, that's...really good...do you mind if I keep this?'

'For your girlfriend?'

'She's not my girlfriend.'

'So it is for her?' Dean found himself grinning. He leaned his head back against that worktable, eyes ahead, teeth chewed his own tongue in smugness. He was happy for Roman, he was. Inside something niggled, that benign jealousy which could always bubble up to the surface. He knew Roman and Seth were their own men, that they needed the comfort of a lady's touch. He was used to sleeping alone – whilst he and Seth could pick up the girls in their own way, Roman had a gift. He'd seen it a thousand times; he could make a woman feel like she was important, just with a smile, a nod, he could make them feel wanted with a handful of syllables. Maybe it was something about his face, the way the bastard was so handsome he could have turned anyone bent. Maybe it was those eyes that couldn't see a hundred metres ahead, but could see everyone and everything close enough in penetrating detail. He knew everything about you from looking at you.

When they'd first met they didn't get along.

Roman didn't trust Dean, Dean thought he was a military slime ball. But that was something they didn't talk about. As far as Roman was concerned, his history ended when he left college and found himself in Kennedy. Maybe that was what had bugged Dean most about him – he'd left, he'd escaped that city, and had chosen to come back.

History had repeated itself.

'Hey Rome?'

'Yeah, Dean?'

'I miss Seth.' He brought his fingers up and rolled an imaginary cigarette, put it between his lips and pretended to light it. Who he wouldn't have fucked for a real one – Truth's last few had disappeared into their lungs the night before. 'I miss him complaining all the time, telling me he's the smart one and I should pay attention, I miss his bullshit.'

Roman somehow managed to pry himself from the table where he'd been bent over last night, and his hand swayed down to pat the top of Dean's head.

'We'll be with him again before you know it. Soon as Truth gets us going on these promised wheels of his.'

'You think he's forgiven me? You know...for leaving?'

'You did what you did to save us Dean.'

'He didn't see it like that.'

'You had six bullet holes in you. He thought you were dying for the sake of it, that he could have saved you. He hated you for making him feel like he'd let you down. I think he forgave you the second you were out of sight.'

Dean plucked an old splinter of china from the floor and toyed with it between his fingers, eyes focused on the faded pink and white. Who was Dean Ambrose? Was he the shield? Was that what it was? Roman was the sword, Seth was the intent...and Dean Ambrose, the human cockroach, the man who couldn't be killed...the _Greatest Demon of Them All_...he was the shield. He was the one who stood in the way and took the enemy fire, he was the distraction and he was the one who took the shots that were meant for the people who got in the way. Did he have some death wish? Was it Sister Abigail proving her power over him all along? She made him sick, he was sick, he was a sick, sick man who in some crazy way got off on all the pain and the suffering. He remembered the night well where Roman had dragged Seth away.

He could remember hands and knees on the blacktop in the rain, water dripping through new holes and the taste of copper and mercury. He could remember looking up and seeing that gun hovering to his temple as Seth screamed over and over.

'They shot me in the head Rome.'

Seconds, minutes went by. Roman's body shifted and landed down in the dirt beside Dean, rested his head on his shoulder and looked at that same spot on the wall, where that creepy doll sat with her cracked face and burned out hair.

'I moved as they did it. Could have blown my brains out, took the top of my skull instead. I got here, Nat's girls found me. Didn't want me dead then, took me in. Nat pulled on the latex gloves. She pulled it out herself.' Dean raised a hand to his mouth, hooked his finger and tugged the left side, turned his head a little. There it was, lodged in where a tooth had once been. 'Made me something to chew with out of it, they looked after me Rome, those girls. Hate my guts the trouble I brought, but they got hearts of gold. Whole month I stayed with her. She nursed me, played the mother and made sure that I got all those pieces of poison out before I went on the streets again. They searched Mullah, over and over, some of her girls died keeping me a secret. I left without saying goodbye, without saying thank you. They shot me in the head, and she saved me.'

Dean shook his head slowly, 'The people I care about get hurt Roman. What does that make me? Who does that make me? Who is Dean Ambrose?'

Roman raised his head from Dean's shoulder slowly, and looked him dead in the eye.

'Dean Ambrose makes roses out of coke cans. He climbs walls that are too tall. Dean Ambrose is the last of the lost boys, and likes dinosaurs and lollipops. He names things because Dean Ambrose sees the soul in the inanimate, he likes to throw tantrums and his breath always smells like old cigarettes and he sometimes forgets how to walk. Dean, you're my brother. Nothing anyone ever says to you, tells you matters. Regal saw you as a toy – it doesn't matter. Wyatt thought you were a demon – doesn't matter. What matters is what _you_ think Dean. Who is Dean Ambrose, Dean Ambrose?'

Dean chewed the end of a finger careful. 'He's a mechanical cannibal inside a human skin peel,'

'...who likes...'

'Tits and beer and cigarettes and sweets and blood and guts and dinosaurs,'

'...and what does he do...?'

'Stands on rooftops like Batman, chews body parts and...and...' a small smile, almost shy, 'loves too much.'

Roman pulled him in against him, hugged him so tight.

God they were broken.

'You boys ready? Huh? Wanna see what I made ya? Huh? Lil' Jimmy did the paint job and she's looking sweeeeeeet.' Truth's head appeared upside down above them from where he'd clambered onto the table. His dreads were like a bead curtain and his eyes almost owl like they were so wide, he was so excited he lost his balance, and tumbled over to land in their laps. He looked up at the two of them grin eight miles wide. 'You boys gonna cream when you see her. She sexy man,'

She really was.

The body parts were from anything and everything and it looked like it was held together with chewing gum and duct tape, but it was beautiful. The bike had heart that was hot as the heavy metal. She clunked and roared and spat as she bucked to life. The _noise_. It sounded like a smokers cough through a megaphone and Dean clapped his hands with glee, hopped aboard and immediately looked at home.

'Shotgun!' he called and stroked the handles adoring, 'I'm gonna call you Betty,'

'Betty?'

Truth stood next to Roman, his arms crossed, his teeth near glow in the dark against his skin. He looked so damn happy with himself it was hard not to feel the positive vibe. Truth himself...he was a happy bastard in general, kept himself to himself in his own little void, but it worked for him. Isolation...it was loving for him, cradled his genius.

'He like a kid at Christmas,' he chuckled.

Roman couldn't help but agree. He knew Dean though – now he'd grown attached to that bike, now it had a name, if anyone were to lay a finger on _Betty_, they were dead. It was why in some ways it was smart not to let Dean near anything important. Because he'd rather blow it up than to let someone else have it that he didn't approve of. He was a very jealous creature.

'Come on Rome! Buchanan is waiting! I feel like I should have a cape to wear this. Truth you got a cape? I want a cape.'

'No capes.' Truth tutted, 'Remember last time?'

'Yeah,' Dean answered almost dreamily as if it were the greatest memory of his life.

Roman, didn't want to know. Instead, he found himself standing expectantly next to that bike, arms crossed, and waiting. Dean was making vrooming noises and seemingly pretending he was in a race with invisible opponents and completely ignored him until Roman cleared his throat loud enough to be heard over _Betty's_ thunder. Dean looked up at him, wide eyed as a child who'd been interrupted playing with his favourite toy. Roman jerked his head to the side.

'I wanna drive!' Dean pouted. 'You never let me drive.'

'Remember last time?'

'Yeah,' that dreamy sound again, happy times of them crashing into a condemned building and having them collapse on them flowing through his mind.

'Shift,' Roman tenderly shoved him aside, but as he did, pain shot up his arm. Eyes down to his hand, still agonised from his beating at the hands of Lesnar.

'Oh no Big Dog.' Dean wagged a finger at his friend. 'You're hurt. Let Daddy handle this. He'll deliver us safely.'

'You were dead yesterday.'

'Your hand is busted. I think I win in the 'current situation' stakes.' Dean nodded his head behind him. 'Climb on Rome. I'll look after you, we'll get there in no time!' he was far too excited about the whole situation, and Roman uneasily edged onto the back of the bike. It groaned a little from his weight, but held up pretty well for a shit heap.

'I hate you both.'

Truth saluted, and moved to the back of the storage room he'd led them too. The black bike, splashed with silver in a haphazard fashion, rolled forward. Truth heaved the door up, an old garage one on a rotary system. The same grey that always rolled over Kennedy welcomed them, the splutter of rain and the endless cold. Dull lamplight paved the way out into Mullah.

'You say hi to the badger for me yeah?' Truth mused.

Dean bumped his old friend's fist graciously. 'We'll tell him you send all your kisses.'

'Yeah well tell 'em to return 'em some time.'

Roman didn't dare let go of Dean, his arms wrapped around his brother's waist, but he nodded to the junkster.

'Thanks Truth, you saved our asses, we owe you one.'

'A big one,' Truth nodded with a shrug, 'you ever wanna get rid of any o' that hair big man, you know where to come.'

'Yeah...time to go Dean.'

_Betty_ knocked into gear, and rumbled forward. Out into the purgatory world, away from the riot of colour and into the dull and the grey. Mullah was just a pit stop, and soon they flashed into the main streets of Kennedy. There wasn't enough time for the Authority to gather, to chase them before they were gone, out of the city, onto that ZZ Highway. Buchanan was hours away, the tank couldn't keep them going forever, they were going to have to make a pit stop.

And Roman knew where.


	46. An Old Man

**((Sorry once again everyone for the delay! Unfortunately I haven't been well, but I'm beginning to get back on the mend so I should hopefully be able to get back on track with providing you lovely people some more of this story! I hate staying away from it for so long! So as always please tell me what you think, you have no idea how much I value your opinions!))**

**INTERSTATE HIIGHWAY 84, MAMA'S DINER**

He never thought in a thousand years that he'd end up here again. In fact he would much rather he hadn't because, well, it wasn't exactly full of his finest moments. No in fact, there had been no good moments at all. Why? He'd pulled an innocent woman into the mess that was the Shield, he'd been beaten by an old man with a spatula, he'd been captured by a bald man with a Swiss accent, and he'd been saved by said innocent women, all the while with his hands tied behind his back. The worst part was he'd let a perfectly good steak go to waste.

If he could have, he would have avoided coming back. But _Betty _could only go so long without some juice. He could only hope the young lad at the pit stop was still there and was feeling very generous indeed. They had nothing of value, except perhaps if Dean still had a gold tooth left kicking about in the back of his skull. He doubted it though – Dean wasn't exactly doing well on teeth these days. He was, however, seemingly having the time of his life riding the bike. He kept swerving for no apparent reason and leaned so far forward it was a wonder he could see over the abnormally large speed gage – that didn't work. The needle hovered between some peeling numbers and the letter R and he really had no idea what was going on. His hand throbbed, his whole body was as fucking tired as it had been the day before. But there was a new life in Dean. It was as if their short conversation had thrown aside a blanket of shadow. He was humming the Batman theme to himself over and over and on the rare occasion a car actually did pass them, he threw up the middle finger and laughed manically to himself.

He was enjoying himself, and Roman wasn't about to interrupt him. It was wiser to let him have his fun.

'So what's at this Diner?' Dean shouted back over _Betty's_ racket. The engine sounded like it was about to fall off at any second. But it had got them this far.

'An old man with a knot on his head the size of Texas who wields a spatula and really doesn't like me, a gas attendant who was far too good for me, and the high chance of enemies.'

Mama's Diner stood as it had on that horrific night, but in the vague cloud rather than thundering storm, it almost looked intimidating. There was a darkness around the whole place, something which made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. It felt like they shouldn't have been there. Like if they walked through the doors of that diner, there would be more than blood on their hands. The gas station beside it hung in the air as if it floated inches from the ground. An uneasy feeling spread through Roman's spine and down to his feet.

'Something doesn't feel right Rome,' Dean muttered. He pulled into the gas station. The young lad who'd helped was nowhere to be seen. He'd been willing to sit through a storm before to see if anyone would come for gas...something was wrong. They both knew it. Carefully, they dismounted from the bike. There was that odd chill in the air – the one that he couldn't quite shake and had carried with him from that warehouse. How far they'd all come. He could remember having to bring Seth next to him as they slept just so he could try and keep him a little warmer. It was almost getting easier now – to think about his brother, and to not be...quite as worried as he had been. The people he was with, whilst he couldn't possibly trust them all, one or two of them would keep him safe through his sickness. He had no doubt Seth would heal – he was always the healthiest of all of them. It had been his own worry which had made him susceptible.

A long time ago, Roman had had a normal life.

Normal compared to his brothers. He'd grown up in Kennedy, but he'd left, he'd gone to college for football, he'd left to join the military...he'd...he'd come back. He'd been the last to join the Shield. Why? Seth had gone in search of Dean, and Roman was brought in. He was headhunted to join the cause. It was because of a fatal mistake he'd made when he'd worn that uniform. He'd left and they'd brought him into the fold because of it. Seth and Dean knew the truth. They were the only ones.

But from his time in the military, he'd developed the same instinct that Seth had gained from his years as a thief, the same instinct that Dean had developed on the streets and in the underground. That gut feeling which told you, shit was about to go down. And he'd really, really had enough of shit.

'Rome, I smell blood.'

In theory humans couldn't smell blood. But Dean? Well some wondered if he qualified, heavens knew he'd bled enough.

He crept forward, stalked, a human praying mantis, his steps so light you wouldn't have thought that he could have moved. Roman wished it were warmer, or even for it to thunder once again. It brought some reality to the world instead of the cold which hung in the air, curtaining the purgatory they all stood in. Once, he'd heard a theory from a drunken Dean that they were all already dead, that somehow the Authority had killed them, and that they were paying for their sins in this grey, grey world, where the entirety of life itself was out to get them. Whilst he didn't quite believe it, it was a cruel idea, one befitting the fate of the Shield.

They turned the corner, and there, laid out on the floor, was the kid. He didn't move, body contorted, limbs broken, his face black and flaked. There was red weeping blood which squeezed through the charred skin. His mouth was a gaping hole, fixed in a pained scream.

'Kane,'

Dean didn't need to say it. Roman knew. Kane had found Seth, and when he'd escaped with Renee, Kane must have gone looking. Must have found out where Renee worked, had found the kid instead. He looked as if he'd been dead for a while, the blood had dried where it oozed. There was nothing that could be done for him, and if they tried to move him, it would only slow them down. Roman swallowed his dry throat wet. This hadn't been done for any reason other than to send the message that Kane was on the hunt, that he would find them, he would take them down...what he'd done to the kid was just the beginning.

'Are we idiots Rome? To be doing what we are? Are fucking idiots?'

'It's too late to turn back now,' Roman muttered. He reached out and gripped Dean's arm tight. 'Quickly, try and gas the bike up. I'll take a look around.'

'Rome, if he's still here, the condition you're in...you don't stand a chance brother.'

Roman didn't answer him, just gave him a small smile, as if to try and convince Dean that everything was going to be alight, as if he could just convince himself of the very same thing. He didn't know anything now. He thought the only thing they'd have to worry about was Shawn Michaels and that fucking spatula of his...Shawn. Roman moved his eyes across to the diner. Had Kane found him as well? What should he care? The man had tried to kill him. But as he made to move away, turn his back to it, he found his eyes over his shoulder in the eerie dark. The lights were on in the diner, but it meant nothing. He could go in there now and Michaels could be fine, could attack him again, or the old man could have been in the worst kind of danger...that really, he didn't deserve.

'Rome?'

But he didn't answer. He left Dean behind to fuel the bike and moved slowly toward the doors. They pressed against his hands, dry this time and he stepped inside. The obnoxious colours hurt his eyes and he closed them tight, opened them a slither and he peered around, tried to be as quiet as he could. His steps were light as he could make them. There was no sign of the short order cook. He was leaving Dean in all kinds of trouble out there alone if Kane still lurked...but he had to know what had befallen Michaels. The morbid curiosity could have been the death of him as he moved toward the grill. It still spat hot, the fat jumped against the walls. He'd been here. But he didn't hide near his work. Roman moved toward the exit he'd first tried to escape through, knew the entrance to the kitchen behind the grill could be accessed through there.

Through the door marked with the symbols for the toilets. There – the very door Michaels had ambushed him through. Roman steeled himself for what might lay on the other side, and pushed it hard. It didn't budge. Firmly he braced his shoulder, and far too aware of his own heart beat, he threw his entire weight against it. The door nudged a little open. He charged again. This time it opened enough for him to push himself through. What had blocked it? As soon as he stepped through into the kitchen, he found out.

There, curled up on the bloody kitchen tiles, lay Shawn Michaels. From his empty hand to the floor lay a butcher knife. But...he had too much colour to be dead. Cautious, Roman bent down beside him.

'Michaels? Shawn Michaels?' he shook his shoulder gently, tried to prompt a reaction.

'He's still here...'

Roman's eyes widened. Shawn's lips had barely moved, and he uncurled himself just enough for Roman to see a massive gash cut into Michael's left thigh. It looked to have severed nerve and muscle. He wouldn't walk on that leg again unless he saw a surgeon and fast...but there was no one who could help him now. Unless...Dean? Could he know anything that could help?

'Michaels, I'm going to get help -,'

'He's still here, Roman Reigns...he's watching you. He knows you're here.' Michaels wheezed. His chef's hat he'd been so proud of was squint and battered on top of his long hair. 'Be careful Reigns..I would have killed you...he will burn you alive...and he's here. He's here!'

Roman felt a hand on his shoulder...


	47. The Trust We Share

**((So here is another chapter in the story of the Shield! Sorry about the delay, and I hope that you all enjoy it and please let me know what you think! We're almost at 7,000 views so thank you everyone for making this story such a success! We're back in Buchanan now, so once again, please enjoy!))**

**BUCHANAN**

It seemed that Seth was right. Orton was an easy man to convince of anything, in particular when you held a straight razor to his groin and made idle threats about him losing his snake. That had been one of Seth's own jokes and Renee could tell he'd been particularly proud of himself for it because he'd gripped his side and tears near came from his eyes from trying not to laugh. She let him have his moment, after all, there was little more she could do from the position that she was in. Sat on the very edge of the truck, her legs were wrapped tight around Orton's chest, pinning his arms to his sides, whilst her arm was locked around his throat to keep him from jolting away. And if he had? He would have run straight into Brie and her razor. The heat poured off them like molten lava and the sweat trickled down her neck and down her back. She was almost thankful now, that the twins had cut off her hair. She would have stripped naked if she could.

'Now Randy, do you honestly mean to tell us that the Game has been a good boss to you? Really? I'm pretty sure if he thought so much of you he wouldn't have sent you on such a dead end mission to get us. And with Bastista? Orton – you used to roll with Rick Flair! You used to sit on high! Your father was one of the holders of the township...and now you slave under a man who treats it like it's his own personal property?' Seth shook his head. He was sat in front of his enemy, his legs crossed, shirtless, his own sweat against his dirty skin. He'd recovered well really. Renee could see the strength begin to glow from his face, from beneath the blood stains and that matted hair and beard of his.

The air tasted sickly sweet and Orton's shoulders were strong. Renee knew, deep down, that if the Viper wanted, he could break out of her hold in a second. But he seemed interested in what had to be said by his enemies...even with the blood from his missing ear beginning to dry. Some of it caked her arm and she shivered at the thought...that it didn't bother her in the slightest. She had the knuckle studs pressed tight to the flesh under his skin, felt like the tough bitch. Yeah, she was getting the hang of this rebel thing.

'And this...' Seth held the Kennedy Title in his hands. It looked old and rusted now that the sun was up, could have been a piece of junk in the sand. But if it was shined, it could hang on high and bring the city to its knees. It was amazing to think, that the boys had stolen it...that they decided that it didn't belong to the Game; that it never had. They'd decided to take the city, their city, into their own hands. 'this once belonged to you Orton. Don't think I forget that. The Game took it from you, as he took it from every legendary family whoever held it. The Great One, he held it once...and now his blood will hold it again.'

_The Great One? _Who was that? She'd never heard the name before...and it occurred to her, that she knew little about the city that reigned over them all. She'd stayed quiet and safe in Adams, hid away in that diner and known nothing more than the adventures Shawn had told her. Maybe one day, she could ask them all to tell her the stories, so she could know as much as they did, so she didn't feel that she was riding their coat tails and getting lost in the kicked up space dust.

'You're not giving me much reason to help you Rollins,' Orton hissed. His voice lisped from the wound that Brie had inflicted upon him, and Renee was thankful that from where she sat, she couldn't see his tongue. His blood may not have bothered her but seeing someone's tongue near split in two? The very thought made her gag a little bit. Orton flexed against the hold of her legs and she tightened subconsciously, she was determined that the snake wouldn't escape her. He couldn't slither away. Not with her and Brie on the case.

Above them, on the roof of the truck sat the brothers, and they watched the scene with such interest that it was miracle they weren't clambering over them all to try and get a closer look. They'd moved Mick's body – not said where, just that he was sleeping safe and sound. Poor Mick...and all because of the bastard between her thighs. Now wasn't that a rub? The closest she'd come to having sex in all this time was probably with Randy Orton, and he seemed fully aware of how he was positioned, and pushed himself back against her.

She decided then and there, that she hated this man, and that if he were suddenly to lose his genitalia, she wouldn't have at all minded.

'The way I look at it, you can either help us, or you can die. Either at our hand, or at the hands of the Game. With us? It'll be quick. But if you return empty handed...well I can see the Game taking more away from you than our Brie has. And all we want you to do, is deliver a message for us. It'll be easy, easy as pie.'

Orton relaxed a little and Renee had to scoot her bottom back a little to stay on the truck. If she wasn't careful she'd be clinging to him so she didn't fall, not to keep him prisoner.

'A message?'

'To the Yes Movement.'

'I could just abandon you, you know. I could leave and go into hiding, never do what you want. What makes you trust me with something so...important to your cause? I hate you, Seth Rollins. It wouldn't even take a second for me to turn on you. I'm the reason your boy Ambrose nearly lost his brain. Why, of all people, would you trust Randy Orton?'

Renee didn't need to see his face to know he licked his lips. She could almost imagine the cocky expression on his face.

'Because Randy Orton has nothing to lose, and of all the people in all the cities and towns...he's the one who wants to be free the most. Imagine Orton, no Authority. Imagine Kennedy in hands that want the best, which don't control. You could go where you please. Do what you want – within reason – you could start again. Be the Viper...and not the Game's bitch lizard.' Seth turned the Kennedy Title to face Randy. 'This is all the power I need, Orton. What about you?'

Brie, who'd been silent until this point, suddenly looked up at Oroton. She looked exhausted, they all did. All in need of food, sleep, shelter. Life on the run was hard, rough, and she missed her little house with her bed. She missed waking up and putting on the kettle and making toast. It was only a few days ago but felt like an eternity had passed. She'd changed, they all had. For the better? She wasn't sure. She looked down at her friend, the passion and power in her eyes, and felt stronger just by being near her.

'If you betray us Orton, it's not the Game you'll have to fear. It'll be me.'

'Ah yes, the goat's wife,' Randy looked down at her, his head cocked to one side. A line of sweat dripped down his bald skull, down his cheek bone, to chin, and dripped down onto Brie's face, to her eye, and rolled down her cheek like a tear. 'You of all people...why trust me with this?'

'Because I don't love you Orton. I love these people. I would die for any of them. Should you be killed, I wouldn't miss you for a single second.'

The way his mouth stretched into that snake like grin, made Renee sick inside.

'What a delicious thing to say Mrs Bryan. And what message, would you like me to deliver to your darling husband?'

'That we're here. We're safe, and we're waiting for him.' Brie tightened her hold against his thigh, the razor turned up to scratch his balls. 'And you won't let us down Orton. If you help us, you'll have your reward.'

'And what might that be?'

'I'll let you live.'

There was something about Buchanan that seemed to lift the spirits of the dead. And oddly, as Randy slowly nodded his head in agreement, Renee felt something, as if some great weight had suddenly lifted from the man's shoulders. An agreement which could bring his freedom from this unspoken contract with a man who'd taken everything from him...so why had he stayed with the Game for so long? Maybe it was an old loyalty. Maybe it was because he'd not been given a reason to leave. Maybe he'd enjoyed himself too much.

But one thing was sure...he didn't want to end up like Batista with his broken neck. The slumped over body was somewhere back in the dust, and no doubt the Rhodes brothers would soon find him a new grave, covered with metal shards so that the sun could cremate his body.

'Then it appears we have a deal.'

Slowly, Seth uncurled himself from his position on the hot tarmac. He stood up slowly, ached from where he pressed his bad hand against the road. His face grimaced briefly, but he pushed the pain away, and hefted the Title up onto his shoulder. He stood before Orton, and nodded gently toward Renee. Uncertainly, she slackened her hold on the Viper, ready to spring her limbs back around him once more should he attempt to strike Seth, but he stayed still, limbs loose against the wind. And Brie? She moved too, retreated behind Orton to stand beside the seated Renee. They exchanged a look, hearts close and heads closer – they were unsure, they didn't trust him.

But they didn't have a choice.

Seth held out his good hand for Orton to take. The Viper's own reached out through the air and took it. They shook, and Orton smirked, held Seth's fingers, squeezed too tight. It was clear to see the discomfort, the almost pain in Seth's eyes, but his expression was steeled; he didn't make a sound until Orton let go.

'Well then Rollins. It appears your fate lies with me. What an exciting thought.'

He turned away from Seth and faced both Renee and Brie. He looked them both up and down very slowly, his eyes lingered over their skin and bones and he peered into Renee's eyes from under his smooth forehead.

'You've made some interesting friends. I hope they don't kill you. It'd be a shame to waste something so appetising.'

She didn't want him to see the shiver that rolled under her skin, but his smirk only grew as he noticed the tremor. The power he had, the coldness he could bring, even to the intense heat of Buchanan. Soon they'd all have to find shelter, before the sun became too high in the sky, before they were all burned to a crisp. The Rhodes brothers were becoming agitated, they started to beat the top of the cab, shouting about the sun.

Orton noticed them, and watched them in silence, his small eyes predatory. It was like everyone he viewed was prey for consuming. And under his glare, Goldust steadied his brother, became still himself. Something passed between them, something cold as the stars in distant space.

'Well then. I'll be on my way. If Mr Ziggler will tell me where I should go.'

Dolph, who'd stayed as far back as he could from the whole affair, was meters away, his back turned to the whole affair. He didn't want any part of it. Didn't trust the plan, Seth or Orton. The displeasure was in his eyes, the reluctance tattooed to his face. He seemed to rather want to look at the half melted black top than to even his glance to any of them. There was something in his hands, he toyed with it carefully between his loose fingers. He looked to Brie for reassurance, and at her determined nod, he moved forward.

He held his arm out, still refused to look at Orton as he held out his arm, straight for him to take what was offered. It appeared to be a scrap of paper. A drawn map perhaps to where the Yes Movement hid.

Orton took it with a cheerful grin, teased Dolph's fingers with his own long ones. He would have been an excellent piano player if he hadn't become a mercenary. He studied it carefully, and the turned to Renee and held it out to her.

'You can keep this. I won't be needing it. A sign of the trust we share. I can't show anyone the map, if I don't have it.'

Renee swallowed and swiped it from his hand before he could even touch her. He seemed satisfied with how he made her squirm and gave them all a sweeping bow. He nodded to each one of them in turn, before he raised the finger to Seth and Dolph, and swept away. The way he walked was more of a slither, he sauntered, as if he wanted them to watch his every movement. And he was fascinating to look at. His body was completely smooth. His clothing almost seemed unnecessarily, as if he might shed it at any moment and disappear into the environment. Everything about him was the perfect predator, and as he left, Renee looked to Brie next to her.

He was the apex predator. And she had taken his ear, his fingers, had near silenced him forever. And for the first time since meeting her, Renee was afraid of Brie.


	48. I Am Your King

**((We've done it everyone! We've made it to over 7,000 views! Thank you so much to everyone who has made this possible! Thank you for giving this story all the time and the attention. I'd love to know what you think of this most recent chapter! A little more of the story has been revealed here and I hope you all see it! Love you all and thank you again! All your kind and encouraging comments have kept this going!))**

'Hello Roman.'

His body smashed against the opposite wall. He saw Michaels try and scramble away from where he'd hidden himself, dragging that leg. Rome shook his senses and found himself looking up at the monster himself. But not Kane.

The Game looked smart in that suit. He'd never seen him outside of one. You could have wondered if he fucked his wife with it on. Sat fat on his shoulder was that old sledgehammer he'd used to topple kings and states. Men made of metal had been dented by its blow, others had flown to heaven or fallen down through the depths of hell. But it had yet to kill the Shield. To see such fear on the face of Michaels, a man who'd stood by the Game for so many years...it was enough to shake a man's soul. But even the storms of Kennedy couldn't have moved the rage which smoked up from Roman's stomach. The days of brutality had made a meat pile out of his body, but he still worked. He moved up from the floor, feet apart, fists raised. He'd fought the Game before. He'd won, with his brothers behind him. He turned his head to search the room. No Dean.

'Looking for your brother?' Hunter looked around too, ignoring Michael's whimpers as he tried to leave. 'Well I can't see him. Maybe we can go looking together, but first...first we need to talk.'

'Using words? Are you sure you're capable? Roman grunted.

The Game liked that, he laughed heartily and clapped a massive hand down on Roman's shoulder. He felt his knees bend from the pressure. He didn't like being touched by the bastard. To think the last time he'd seen him was down in the pits. It felt like years had passed since that moment and it was only a few days.

'Roman, Roman. I would have thought you'd learned by now that it's not very clever to try and make fun of the man who holds the weapon.' He slid that sledgehammer of his shoulder. He held it in those two great hands, loved its familiar weight and looked at it proudly. He moved it close to Roman's head, mimed hitting him with it. 'Remember when I hit your brother with this? Remember how he shook? How he bled?'

How could he forget? The moment the Game had hit Dean straight into the jaw they'd all though they'd lost him forever. But that was the day they learned that they couldn't be beaten when united, and that Dean had a jaw stronger than iron – from being hit full in the face, he'd swallowed teeth, but had lived.

'If you're here to kill me Hunter, you can put me out of my misery. One more word and I might just do myself in.' Roman leaned back against the counter, took in deep breathes through his nose, out through his mouth. His eyes were on the Game and he didn't let him out of his sights for even a second. Hunter was most dangerous when you relaxed around him. He was the master of lulling people into a false sense of security. Perhaps it was one of the reasons he'd so efficiently fooled the Shield into doing his bidding for so long. Roman could remember looking younger and being healthier when he'd filled the Authority's shoes. Life had been better for them – like Seth had said – when they were the bad guys.

The Game smiled.

Roman hated it.

'I'm here to do better than that Reigns. I've come to offer you a chance of redemption. To save yourself, and your two comrades.'

'If this has anything to do with kissing your ass Hunter, I think I'd rather bury myself alive.'

Roman's hands were on the counter to keep him steady. He tried to feel for something, anything he could use as a weapon. Hunter was a formidable man. There was a reason he'd stayed on the throne as long as he had. The door behind the Game, swung shut. Michaels had escaped, but if he was right about Kane being nearby, then how far he would get would be down to luck. What about Dean? He was out there...what if Kane found him? He had to find his brother – fast – separate and conquer had always been the technique used by the Shield, and now, he saw with horror, it was once again, being used against them. Their immortal souls were tainted with their misdeeds. He knew none not stained with the blood of others. Maybe he was destined for hell. Maybe he would be killed at the hand of the Game.

But he would fight til the last.

'Not quite Roman.' Hunter moved round, followed Roman's movements like a snake. 'You see you and your brothers are proving troublesome to me. I thought it would be easy to destroy you once and for all, and now I see that you're a problem that needs to be dealt with carefully.' There was something about how he was talking, how he pronounced his words. It was all so slow.

He was buying time.

He'd not expected to be here alone.

Roman could see it. He could feel it, as he felt his hand close around the handle of something.

'I'd put that knife down Reigns.'

'Why don't you put the sledgehammer down?'

Hunter looked at the weapon fondly, ran his hand over the smooth handle, his eyes were full of love. How could someone be that way? How could someone want so much that they consider their closest ally a weapon which could murder? He doubted he'd ever be given the answers. But to his complete and utter surprise, and suspicion, the Game nodded, and actually placed the sledgehammer down on the floor; knees bent, and left it there among the carnage. He stood and adjusted his tie.

'There. See? Unarmed. Nothing up my sleeves. Can we talk now, like civilised gentlemen?'

It went against every instinct, but Roman slowly released his grip on that knife. But he kept it close. Just in case.

'What do we have to talk about Hunter? You've been trying to kill us at every turn.'

The Game nodded and looked rather proud, 'I have, but you three have defied us, you've escaped and survived.' He held up a hand and started to count on his fingers, 'Kane, Batista, Orton, Lesnar...each and every single one you've defeated one way or another.' He lowered his hand and let out a laugh. 'Don't get me wrong Reigns. Nothing would please me more than to have the three of you hanging from the walls of Kennedy.'

The image was a pale reminder. Long ago, when the Shield weren't known, they had snatched infamy by hanging the Undertaker from the bastion. The unkillable was murdered at the hands of the Sheid. The Game wanted him to remember what they'd done. But he needn't have bothered, it was a cruel memory which forever sat at the back of his mind.

'What do you want of me if not my dead body?' Roman muttered. The door was just there. He was as big as the Game, and if he surprised him, he might knock him back, he might have a chance to get out as Shawn had, to find Dean, to get onto that bike and disappear into the night. The chance...that small chance was only there if he grabbed it. He didn't like talking, talking bought too much time. If the Game was waiting for Kane, there was only one reason he wasn't here already. He'd found Dean. He could have feared for his brother's life. But the two had met before and Dean had survived then, so he had to have faith he'd live now.

'Come back to the Authority Reigns. Your life was good under our control. You did as we asked and we gave you freedom and power. What have you now that you're rogues on the streets and on the run? You have nothing. You are nothing. No one fears you. No one runs from you. You're nothing but the dust on the road, kicked up by everyone else. You could be something again.'

Roman stared at him, the proposition he made and wondered if those were the words he'd used to lull Seth back into his clutches. A well rehearsed speech that no doubt had turned many people round to the Game's way of thinking. But everyone had their own agenda and their own wants. The Game didn't seem to realize that the people who followed him did it only because their wishes were being fulfilled. He was their genie in a slimy bottle. The Game played the fools...without realizing that he was the one being played.

'Do you honestly think we'd come back to you? After everything you've done to us? After everything that happened? You're crazy. Crazy. You should have been in that bedlum, not Dean.'

The Game crunched his teeth. The sound alone made Roman's blood run a little colder. Every sound was too loud in the kitchenette. He was tired and wounded, the Game was in his prime, healthy and strong. In his best days Roman could have taken him on. But now, as he clenched his fist and the pain rushed through his injured hand, he knew he couldn't fight gods.

'Your brother should be in a room bashing his thick skull against the wall. But you ruined that, didn't you Roman? You and that...that fucking Yes Movement. You're all against me. You all want me gone.' He moved so fast that Roman didn't have time to blink. The sledgehammer was in hand once again. 'You think that you can destroy everything I've built? That just because your family have been where I am that you should be the one on the throne? You think that just because _he_ has been where I am, you're entitled to have it all? I chose you Reigns! I wanted you when I knew who you were. I wanted to crush you under my heel. To control you and take you so far down you would never be able to be who I am! _The Great One_,' he snorted, 'he's long gone! Abandoned you all for more than Kennedy! He didn't care for this state! He wanted fame and fortune! Left you all to fall into my hands! You may be his heir Reigns...but I...I am your king!'

He swung.

Roman ducked, his rear hit the tiled floor as the head of the hammer smashed straight into the counter. He moved. He crawled. Was on his feet. The weapon swung again. It missed by a hair. He couldn't get too close. He'd be done for. He'd be dead. Where was Dean?

'I'll kill you Reigns. You'll be dead and that'll be the end of the Shield! You'll never rule Kennedy! Never!' The Game jerked the hammer head free from where it had stuck in the wall. The sound was deafening as it smashed tiles, inches from Roman's head. He threw himself toward the door. It opened without him touching it. Something great, red and hulking stood there, blocked the way. Kane. Roman didn't give himself time to think and his momentum ploughed him straight into the monster. They fell back, and before Kane could move to stop him, Roman scrambled up. 'Stop him!'

But he wasn't hanging around.

He had to find Dean.

He didn't have to look far. Dean himself was just outside the diner, the bike rumbling. His bug eyes swung round to see him as Roman crashed out of the doors and out into the cold air. His body felt younger for some reason, like facing the Game had somehow made him immortal. He scrambled onto the back of the bike, arms twisted around his brother like the metal of that coke tin flower.

'Hit it Dean!'

He didn't need telling twice. _Betty_ growled and shot off like a bullet. The day was chill and warm all at once. Roman didn't know what to feel. It wasn't the confrontation with the Game which had thrown him but the words which had left Hunter's mouth. The offer of rejoining them, only for his temper to reveal his true motive. He thought that the Shield wanted to overthrow him.

Now wasn't that a fine idea?

'What happened Dean?'

His brother gave him a quick glance over his shoulder. He didn't look any worse for wear, tired perhaps, but not hurt.

'Fuelled the bike, went for a piss and wondered what the fuck had happened to you! I saw Kane head into that diner and thought _well shit_. Was gonna follow you in when I saw you come on out of that door and thought well best we get on our jolly ol' way yeah?'

'Yeah.'

'What happened to you?'

'The Game made an offer I had to refuse so he tried to smash my head in with an old friend of yours.'

'_My Little Friend_?' Dean shook his head and felt his jaw. It had taken a lot of wiring and prayers to fix it from where the Game had busted it in two with that old sledgehammer. As with so many times in their lives, he was lucky to have survived. 'But the Game was there? What did he say?'

'Tried to get us back on side.' Roman shook his head, his long hair flowed out behind him in all its knots and tangle. His face felt squint against the crystal air and that heavenly grey which weighed down on them all. 'Dean – he's scared of us. It was all there in his face. He thinks we're going to try to overthrow him...that I want to be in his place.'

Dean was quiet for a moment. But then, he shrugged. 'It's in your blood, innit?'

There were a lot of things in Roman's blood. He could feel them all, was heated by the fire of love for his brothers and hatred of all those who tried to harm them. There was the gold of some kind of legacy, and the dirt of thee mercenary he'd become. He was no king. He wasn't the people's champion and wasn't sure he wanted to be. But to send the Game packing...before it had been about taking what was most important to Hunter. To humiliate him and to show he wasn't a titan. He could be brought down. The Kennedy Title was snug with Seth. And whilst it was in his brother's hands – it made Seth the head of Kennedy.

It made him the Game's replacement.

Perhaps Hunter didn't care about holding the title itself, but controlling the one who did. If he was the one pulling the strings then he was the god he wanted to be. He was high on his mountain and the puppet master.

That was why he'd wanted them back.

He just wanted to control the elements. He wanted to tame the dogs who bit the hand that fed.

'I don't want to rule Kennedy, Dean. But the idea of taking it all from Hunter, the idea of taking him down, taking him out, making something out of our home, more than the ashes and dust he's reduced it to...I like that idea.' He licked his dry lips wet. 'How do you feel about a little anarchy Dean?'

He didn't need to see it to know Dean smiled.

'Now don't that sound fun?'

Buchanan was ahead. There was only time between them and Seth. Soon, so soon, they would be together again. And this, whatever it was, could begin. Their last chapter could be finished and they could re-write what had been in stone for so fucking long. The King of Kings couldn't live forever no matter how hard he tried. Roman could feel it in his bones, in his blood, and as he saw that open road ahead of him, he felt his own mouth stretch into a rare, solemn smile.

The first prickles of a new rain caught his skin. He closed his eyes and raised his head toward that darkening grey sky. His arms spread wide. He was flying on the back of that botched up bike. The rain fell heavier and washed his soul clean. The drops caught Dean's hair and chilled them both down to the bone, through to their core. They were not meant for the son, born for the storm. And a storm would be what they brought to the Game. The winds were gathering, a hurricane brewing and as Roman felt freedom for the first time in his life, he heard the rumble of something behind them. Thunder had chased him before, but this had for wheels and a motor. The black top jumped underneath them.

But behind there were monsters.

They were getting closer.

'Dean!'

'I know! I know!'

But _Betty _could only fly so fast. Take them so far. He felt the headlights burn the back of his neck. Turned his head and could see the devil in the front seat and the demon by his side. If he could have believed in God he would have prayed for some helping hand, but what God had helped them but themselves? The bumper of that car was so close to grazing the bike that Roman contemplated jumping. The rain smothered his hope and kissed the road. The floods started to leak through the road and he knew they could only wait for death to collide.

A horn.

But not from the car chasing them. Behind them.

Roman strained his eyes through the storm, tried to see what it was. Run, run, they could only run, flying on the belly of the beast through the dark and the rain. They sped and they rumbled, ran on metal feet. He could hear it getting closer, another strangle of a horn. The Game didn't turn to look, ignored the started cry of the creature behind him. His eyes fixed on Roman, he wanted to kill, he wanted their bodies underneath his wheels. They couldn't run from him on that open road. There was only one way to go.

So they had to run, run, run!

'Dean!'

But his brother was trying, bent so far down he could kiss the handles. All the insanity in the world could have been boiling in his body to drive them harder, but the bike could only handle so much crazy.

Another blast of that horn.

Roman turned his head, and through the tendrils of his hair, through the endless rain and the blinding of the headlights, he saw something. It burst out from behind the Game's car, four wheels fat and hard on the ground, lights so bright they could have burned them all away. Squat and fast, it shunted its way next to Hunter. Roman tried to blink the blind spots away from his eyes, tried to make out who drove this new vehicle.

A friend, who slammed the jeep into the side of that flat black car. The tires squealed, the car skid on the wet road. It turned and tried to come back, but the jeep crashed into it once again. It held firmly against it, tried to run the Game off the road, through the barriers, off into the woodland. Roman had to turn his head, the lights dazed him, and he clung onto Dean tight, head buried into his brother's shoulder against the wind and the rain. He heard each and every clash. He heard the scream of brakes. He heard the crash of a car against the metal barriers, and braved a look.

Spun out, busted at the front, the Game disappeared into the darkness as the car's lights flickered.

There, that jeep. It came closer, closer. Too close as it tried to come beside them. Dean tried to urge the bike on. There was a strange sound – the window scrolled down of that jeep.

Roman's heart lifted. Because there, with a smile and a wink, and a salute, was someone he thought they'd never see again. It seemed he really was a superhuman.

'I told you I'd find you again!' Cena shouted with a shit-eating grin. 'Didn't think it'd be out here! You boys need a lift?'

'Cena I could kiss you ya son o' a bitch!' Dean hollered and screeched a laugh. The storm couldn't dampen their spirits. This wasn't their end yet. Both bike and car slowed. It didn't take long for them to load up into that jeep, for Dean to grap Cena by the collar and to plant a wet smacker on the cop's mouth and for Roman to hug the stupid bugger. Buchanan seemed so much closer.

The journey to Seth would be fast, and dry.

'Hey you guys hungry? I bought jelly donuts!'


	49. BONUS CHAPTER III

((**Hi guys! Sorry about the gap in postings. I have no excuse I just fail miserably at life. So here is a chapter for you! It's a little on the short side, but it's from the POV of everyone's favourite Viper! I hope that you enjoy it and please let me know what you think. I'll have another chapter up quickly after this one, and hopefully one up quickly after that! As always I love and adore you all, your comments are always what spur me on so please review away and happy reading!))**

_The world was such a strange and chaotic place. He could trace the veins of it all, the lines of the roads on a map and a path less travelled was that of a lonely, dangerous man. Like a broken obsession you could follow every single one and wonder how you ended up back in the same position. Madness – to repeat the same action and expect different results; they were all mad. The world was mad. Mad as madness could be – it polluted them all, a special brand of poison that sunk in through the skull and thickened the veins to make them all indestructible until their own antidote was found – then, then they'd fall into their shallow unmarked graves and disappear from the world forever._

_How he'd come to be here once again. How he'd come to be the snake in the dirt – well, a privilege he was born to. They'd all been gods at one point or another. He could remember when he'd sat on high, only to pushed face down into the dust by the man who pulled him up once again, dusted him down and promised glory of a different sort. But here he was – a new game, a new player. He'd shed his old skin and become what was inside all along._

_The mercenary, the lone killer in the dark...and now a messenger. Oh he would fulfil what they asked him. The sweet anarchy they promised was too good a show to miss. He would watch from the barricades whilst the plague of __**Yes**__ ate the city from the inside out, and then when the rotting corpse was left he'd take back what was his. The gold title he saw glimmer in Seth Rollins hands was just a medal, to show how well and strong you'd done. People respected it because it somehow meant you were worthy to rule over the state. His legacy ran deeper than that._

_The path from Buchanan back toward the walls of Kennedy was a long one, but he had the time. He knew what was waiting at the end of the road for him. He knew the holes and the underground bunkers. There was not a hidden gateway that wasn't known by the viper. It had almost disgusted him to run above ground with an animal like Batista. He'd had what was coming to him – too cocky, too feckless. He had no brains, no cause, just blindly followed. But not Randy, he'd been biding his time, coiled, waiting to strike..enjoying what fear he could cause under the mantel of the Game. The lights of the day were hot on his skin and he covered himself as best he could with the coat he'd worn for years – once it had belonged to his father._

_Another man who had sat on high in Kennedy, so many had through the decades. It had been a democracy once, people voted in to stand and govern. Then, it became a fight, a battle to prove you were worthy. The last true warriors just dying to get their hands on the throne. The Game was one such – he'd had integrity once. Power corrupted people like him._

_But Randy's soul was born bloody and black. Right and wrong didn't figure in his mind, he followed his own desires and his own feelings. He could have been a figment of a bye gone world, a traveller in the dark, a man just trying to work his way through the madness and survive by the skin of his horned teeth. But heaven had no gates waiting for snakes like him. It was better to be venom than to be milk. _

_It intrigued him, that the Shield were running so far when they had all the pieces to divide and conquer. The title was in their hands and there was one among them who would be carried to the throne by the people of Kennedy for the blood in his veins. The Great One had been so beloved by the people that when he turned on them, abandoned them, left to pursue his selfish wants, they were left confused, easy to manipulate. Roman Reigns was said to be of the same blood – it gave him right to be the King. But did he want it?_

_Who would? To be a King was to be in the eyes of all. Randy had tasted it all, and found he preferred the darkest patches of power. He belonged among the ashes and the nightmare elements. He could feel it now, taste the copper as his tongue began to knit. Half-deaf at the hands of that she-devil, mottled and disfigured, he was handsome only to the danger he courted. He helped the Shield because it would benefit him – he would be free of the bond which chained him to the Game, a deal, a contract signed in blood. He'd been stupid and young, thought that it would be the best thing for him. A miserable mistake._

_He already felt like himself again. _

_His eyes, slits and golden in the darkness could only see ahead. It had not taken long for him to find one of the first dug outs. There was a whole network beneath the state, each leading into another if you knew the way. Kennedy was not the only one with underground secrets. Even the smaller towns had something hidden deep below. It was how the Authority heard all secrets, spied, learned of betrayals and appeared in seconds. Favoured by the assassins and informants, each taken into the confidence of the Game was shown the Underground paths by Orton himself, none knew those trenches better than the viper._

_Pitch darkness was little bother to him, he saw well in it, a quirk of birth, sensed his way through more than looked. His hands, scaled and rough from the recent fights trailed along walls of memory. Rats lived well in the depths. Many of those who opposed the Game had fled to the dark. It would not surprise him if he came across bodies in the shadows. Insanity was bred in the common people. He could feel it in his own head now as excitement flooded through him. No fear; that was a program that had to be written into your system. The primal creatures didn't experience it. He had no predators. Nothing to be afraid of. _

_Feet moved too quick, barely left the floor. He almost slithered, body lithe and ready for the environment to cave in on him. Far beyond this labyrinth lay towns and cities. He could feel the rumble of miles off Jefferson, hear the pastures of Adams and somewhere beyond every single place he could trail off to, was Kennedy. Hours could pass and he would only be closer to where he needed to be. A day of constant travel and more would take him there. That would be enough. He would not receive a warm welcome, that was for sure._

_Many years before, he'd actually been favoured by some of the town, even found some form of odd alliance with Daniel Bryan, back when the goat-faced man was trying to befriend Kane. Bryan had seen the demon as someone who just needed to be shown some compassion...and for a while, there had been changes. Kane had almost seemed happy in the other man's company, he'd started to show rebellion against the Authority. Orton had even fought alongside them on occasion. But then the Authority crushed it all with the hands of the Shield. It was an obscure thought, that the people who fought so strongly against the Authority now, had been the ones to bring the strongest rebellion ever seen to its knees. Orton had done what was best for him – made a deal he regretted. Kane was somehow convinced Bryan was the enemy. _

_Orton had been there the night Bryan's wife was assaulted. Had watched, unseen in the shadows; he'd been the invisible watcher of so many cruelties and murders and hardships. There was something about viewing the misery of others which gave him a kick, this odd thrill which he couldn't quite palette, but loved the taste of. Fighting Brie Bella, all he'd been able to see was that night, replayed over and over when she found out her husband was dead. Oh the fact that Bryan was actually alive had been no mystery to Orton. He'd kept it long secret from the Game. The Yes Movement had stirred and Hunter has his suspicions, but he didn't know. Some little secrets were better kept hidden. It gave Orton an edge. Few knew more than him – the hacker, Y2J, hidden in his cyber web with surveillance on every corner, in every room was a close ally of his, secret of course. Should he have been discovered, Orton would not have defended the man, and he knew the feeling was mutual. They operated to exist and maintain their own existence. Y2J knew more than anyone. He would perhaps be of some use in this game the Shield wanted to play._

_But it would take a long while for him to reach Kennedy. _

_Orton reached into the thin pocket on the inside of the coat. He pulled out two thin ear buds and pushed one into his remaining ear. He could run for hours, but it would be better if it weren't in silence. Had he had the music when he fought Brie Bella...she would have been the one bleeding. He wondered vaguely what had become of Batista, dead? Buried? Alive? Buried? Left to roast in the Buchanan sun? Good riddance, one less obstacle for when the time came. His dead eyes saw the darkness ahead, and strode toward the awaiting halls. Every echo closer than the last._


	50. Conquests

((**Here is the next chapter I promised that would come in quick succession! It's rather long but I felt I owed that to you all. I really hope that you enjoy this upload, I think it's one of my favourites from a character point of view and I really enjoyed writing it. As always I'd love for you to let me know what you think, your reviews are so important to me! We've over 7,600 views on this story which is absolutely amazing. Love you all!))**

**BUCHANAN**

'Brie?'

'Yeah?'

'How did you and Daniel meet?'

They were in a small crawl space, an underground bunker that the Rhodes brothers had created to hide from the burning Buchanan sun. It was rather roomy given that it was under the scorched earth, they could all sit with straight backs and without touching. There were bundles of scavenged blankets to cover the dirt and from the pieces of wood which kept the whole thing together were pinned pictures which seemed to either have been drawn by children or by the brothers – perhaps both. There was a pleasant coolness to it all; the walls were a little damp, the air moist. There were crates which stored an endless supply of tinned food, boxes of cereal years out of date and pasta drier than a desert. It made her happy in many ways – at least they didn't survive off of rats, though the tiny piles of bones in one corner did make her wonder.

There was a small area on the far left a little taller than the compartment she sat in which allowed freedom for standing, and appeared to have a sheltered hole for keeping watch. Dolph stood with Goldust, both intently starring ahead of them as if blinking might kill them both. Seth and Stardust were sleeping, exhausted by the heat and their efforts. Renee herself was sat with Seth's head on her thigh – he'd insisted on using her for a cushion, and she stroked his hair idly. He cuddled that golden title close to his chest. After hiding it for so long, he must have been very paranoid about someone trying to take it from him. Her eyes were on him as she asked the question; Brie was sat opposite, sharpening her razor with a blunt stone.

'Now that's a story,' Brie smiled slowly and lowered her hands. One leg was bent up, foot braced against the floor and she rested her weapon against her knee before rubbing the side of her forehead with the stone. 'You know I don't think I remember a time when I didn't know him. We met before Buchanan burned. He came to the town with a group of his own, they were all outcasts, unwanted because they tried to stage a coup in...I think it was Lincoln... always been a rebel. I think that's why I liked him. We were both kids then...he left not long after to travel the state. After Buchanan burned and Nikki and I went to Kennedy, we chanced upon each other again. This time he was trying the straight and narrow, keeping out of trouble as best he could. That's probably where our story really started.' She sighed, eyes closed and shook her head, before she leaned it back against the cold wall. 'I don't think I'll ever forget it.'

'Tell me, I love a good origin story. Lord knows I haven't even heard what happened really with the boys yet. Roman gave me a diluted version when we met and I've picked up pieces here and there. I kind of feel a bit out of tune with it all...but I'd love to know about you. You seem to love Daniel very much.'

'I died the day he did. Knowing that he's out there somewhere, alive...it's exhilarating. I'm angry with him for not coming for me, but then...I didn't wait did I? We'll see each other again soon...and it seems too good a thing for what terrors I've done. There must be some dreadful punishment waiting for me but I just can't see it knowing that he's still alive.'

Renee reached out and took her friends hand, a little uncertain in case she suddenly lost a few fingers of her own. Brie dropped the stone to let her do so, and their fingers tangled together tightly.

'You're not a bad person Brie. I know you think you are, but so far all I've seen in you is good. Though you scared the shit out of me with what you did to Orton. I guess I didn't realize just what you could do.'

Brie laughed darkly, 'I promised to protect you guys and I will. I'm not afraid of ruining this pretty face, all it's ever done is cause trouble. We have more in us than we realize until we have to use it. As it turns out, Nikki and I are both very capable fighters – you too, you're learning so fast. What you did to Batista, you surprised all of us Renee. I'm very proud of you.'

Renee shrugged a little uselessly and looked down at Seth. She toyed with a piece of his blond hair and leaned down a little to sniff it. It was odd really, for how rough he looked, he didn't smell. He didn't even really seem that dirty. His sickness was beginning to pass – his sleep was deep, and for the first time he didn't seem in pain. His body was fine, but his mind? What made him decide to trust Randy? What had really caused him to kiss her? He'd tried to explain it, but she still didn't understand. He thought he was going to die, that it was his way of saying goodbye. But it had been something else...she'd...she'd felt it, in her gut. It had been a tangle of confusion but it was something powerful. She cared about him. She did, God she did. She really cared, she wanted him to be safe, she wanted him to be well and she wanted him to succeed. Like he was her brother...had he really horrified her as much as she'd played? He'd shocked her. Surprised her in the heat of what was happening.

'Renee – I saw what he did.'

She blinked and looked at Brie with wide eyes, mouth a little open. 'What?'

'He kissed you. Do you think I didn't see it? I know that's what you're thinking about. You've got that look in your eyes. You're trying to figure out how you feel about it, aren't you?'

'I -,' Renee closed her mouth and flicked her eyes back down to the sleeping man with his matted hair and beard. 'He told me that nothing was bigger than me Brie. He kissed me and later, when I confronted him about it, he told me that Roman didn't know how incredible I was...I'm very confused by it all. I've never had to deal with this kind of thing.'

Seth snorted and rolled into her hip.

'Do you love him?' Brie asked pointedly.

Renee bit her lip. 'I think I do...but I don't want to have sex with him. Not that kind of love...at least I don't think I do...do I? I mean...whenever something happens all I can think about is...well...' she felt heat gather in her face, 'well...Roman. Like I can't wait to tell him about everything that's happened, to see him again. When he was on that phone, I felt so relieved to know that he was alright Brie, it was like someone had taken a rock off my chest.'

Brie let go of Renee's hand and linked her own fingers together, stared straight ahead at the wall, before she shuffled herself over to sit next to the blond. She rested her head on her shoulder.

'No matter what happens Renee, love these boys. It might confuse you how you feel, and you might not know what degree of love it is, but they need it and they need you. I think Seth knows that, I think that was why he kissed you, because he recognizes how important you are, that you're the one keeping them all alive, despite being only with him. You started this whole thing sweetheart, you _are_ the Shield. You're the glue that holds it all together. And hey, he might want to sex you up, but that's because you're a hot little cinnamon bun. He might not look the prettiest right now, but he's not terrible Renee...and if you wanted a little fun...'

'Brie!' Renee squeaked. She wasn't sure her face could get any hotter. Seth muttered something and twitched and she became stone still. He quickly nodded off again, one finger hooked into the fabric of her top. 'Brie I can't have sex with him!'

'Why not?'

'I – well – because -,'

Brie trained her eyes seriously on her, 'Honey, don't be a little girl. You don't have to, but think about it. Might be good for you both. You're both single, unattached adults'

'But -,'

Quite suddenly, Brie's mouth cut a razor blade grin, 'I see, I think I see. You're worried what Roman would think if you fucked his brother!' she clapped giddily, 'oh you are precious. But seriously Renee, think about it. You adore Roman, I can see that, and far be me to knock you off the path of true love, but this is a dark and dangerous world. We are all guilty of far less things than enjoying a little carnal pleasure.'

'Would _you_ have sex with him?'

Brie pointed at her ring finger, 'How dare you Renee Young. I am a married woman.'

'You were a widow until a few hours ago!'

'Ah yes.'

'Did you...I mean...have you...?'

'Whilst Daniel has been gone?' Brie took in a deep breath and slowly nodded. 'A handful of times, with the same man. I'm not proud of myself. He was a very good man, a generous lover and I don't regret it, but knowing that Daniel is alive...I feel like I've betrayed him somehow.'

'You couldn't have known Brie. I think Daniel would forgive you.'

'I know he would. And that almost makes it worse.'

'Who was he?'

Brie picked up the razor and started to sharpen it once again, her eyes reflected back at her in the blade. She didn't seem to want to answer that question, and Renee wasn't going to probe. It seemed rude to considering just how open Brie had been with her in the past few minutes – at times, embarrassingly open. Renee breathed in gently and once again started to stroke Seth's head. It seemed to sooth him and he almost pressed into her fingertips as she did it – she felt like a mother with her son. The idea of actually getting physically intimate with him was terrifying...she couldn't picture it. Well. She could, but she didn't know if she liked the idea. Was she just afraid? It had been such a long time...he'd seen her naked (sort of), he'd embraced her, kissed her...he'd been closer to her than any man had in forever.

All those things made her feel a little more open to the idea, but almost as soon as she did, a big Roman shaped door swung shut on it all. She barely knew the man, had seen him once, he'd disappeared from her life and she thought about him constantly like a love struck teenager. He probably didn't even feel the strange pull that she did. He obviously worried about her because he'd been happy to talk to her on the phone. But what did that mean? Nothing. Roman had far more important things to worry about than her...and any sexy thoughts she may have had.

Looking at Seth, she could see more than the handsome face hidden under all that hair. She saw his bad attitude and how it had softened toward her. She saw how he'd saved her life. She saw his concern and she saw every kind thing he'd said and done; because she found him.

'Wade Barrett.'

Renee lifted her face to look up to Brie. Her friend had her head in her hands, her long hair trailed over her arms and shoulders. She wasn't crying, but it seemed like she was having a hard time stopping herself. Renee placed a hand on her shoulder. Brie was silent for what felt like hours until she swallowed and parted her hair, turned to look at Renee.

'That group I told you about...that Daniel was a part of when we met. Wade was their leader. When Brian left they didn't get along, but they patched things up and he became a close friend of ours...he was going to be our baby's godfather. When Daniel died and I ran...we met not long later. He was so good to me, let me cry, patched my wounds...it just happened. After he _apologized_ to me Renee, said he shouldn't have taken advantage of me. I don't think I let him leave my side for days. We fucked, we smoked, we drank, and he made me feel like a woman again. He told me how much he cared for me, and that he felt like he'd lost a brother...he was the only person who seemed to feel the same amount of loss that I did. I don't regret being with him...but he was Daniel's best friend Renee...'

There was a short, awkward silence before Renee actually smiled. 'At least it was someone Daniel knew and trusted and not some random herpes ridden crack addict you found on a street corner.'

The snort that erupted from Brie's nose made the shelter shake. Seth jolted awake with a start, the title clutched tightly to his chest in case someone were about to snatch it from him. He looked about in panic before he realized that it was Brie laughing. And how she _laughed_ it was heavy, loud, obnoxious and full of sheer joy. Stardust seemed dead to the world, but his brother Dolph ducked their heads in to see what all the fuss was about.

'What on earth is going on?' Dolph asked, bewilderment stamped on that chiselled face of his.

'Sexploits.' Renee said with a bold grin.

'Oh, now I've got some stories there,' he said, suddenly very interested in hanging out with them. For hours he'd kept his distance, either unhappy with his company, worried they were going to hit him again or he felt everything was too awkward with Brie. As he sat down, he crossed his legs and cast Seth and untrusting glance. 'What about you Rollins, eh? Got some conquests to share with the group?'

Seth scratched his head and managed to locate the piece of blond that Renee had twisted together. Not quite with it, he pushed himself properly into a seated position against the wall. He'd clearly slept well – she could tell from how disorientated he was. Every time he'd woken before had been from the most fitful sleeps and he'd been so alert.

'Conquests?'

'Ladies, boobies, intercourse.' Brie helpfully provided, by pointing at her and Renee, then cupping her own breasts, before finishing off with some vigorous air humping. Renee could barely contain her laughter.

'Oh, er,' Seth actually looked like he had to think about it. 'Well...not really.'

Silence.

'What? No stories? I would have thought the great Seth Rollins was a regular Casanova,' Dolph mocked.

'Guess you thought wrong then.' Seth muttered and glared at the other man.

'You _have_ had sex though, right?' Brie probed.

'I'm not a complete waste of air, of course I have.'

'So...'

'You're not going to let this go are you?'

A round of shaking heads. Renee did not pride herself on the fact that she was one of them, but given her conversation with Brie, learning about Seth's sexual history was very suddenly of her upmost interest. Seth's glare could have killed, and he shifted uncomfortably, the title now slung over his shoulder and cemented in place by the wall he leaned against. He ran his hands through his hair, nicking it behind his ears.

'Her name was Sasha.'

'That's a pretty name,' Renee intercut. That earned a small smile from Seth who almost seemed shy talking about the affair.

'What did she look like?' Dolph demanded.

'Hair the colour of raspberries, skin like almonds and a kiss that could kill,' Seth chuckled, an old joke it seemed. 'She was sent with us once on a mission...one of the Game's assassins. Method of death: poisoned lips. She got this boy I'll tell you...didn't kill me though, could have, if she'd wanted. She told me she forgot to put that lipstick of hers on...but I knew.'

The way he looked at the ground when he spoke...he'd really liked this girl. Renee could see it in his face, the little smile when he talked about her. A perfect, golden memory.

'She sounds awesome Seth,'

'She was...more than awesome. When she left she handcuffed me to a pipe so I couldn't follow her, said that stragglers were bad in her line of business. Everyone called her the Boss...no one knew her real name, but she told me.'

Brie nudged Renee. There was an old calling, soft in Seth's eyes. They could all see it. A recall had triggered memories, sweet and musky in the back of his mind. You could almost see the room they'd made love in, projected from him. You could almost see them, sharing kiss, the sweat on their bodies. You could almost taste the passion, mingled with the fear of what he felt for her. It may have been long ago, years before even, but it was still there. The worry Renee had held inside, the fear for what Seth might have felt for her, began to lapse.

Seth had loved before, it was all there. What if he and his Sasha met again? Would she want him?

Thoughts of Roman flooded her mind, the potential for something and nothing. An adoration had come from Seth meeting his woman once. What of her and Seth? Her and Roman? There was nothing but what she had to build on. She could have been friends with these men, a sister at arms forever and she would have been happy...but could there be a chance for more than happiness? She'd been alone for so long that the idea of something more was like a dream, like a flash of lightning. She reached out to Seth and placed her hand on his knee.

'Do you think you'll ever see her again?'

He shrugged, 'I don't know if she'd remember me...It was so long ago, when the Shield was young. We've both changed a lot. Besides, if we meet again...it'd probably be because she's been sent to kill me, and she's never failed. Her record is bloody and clean all at once. But...if we did, I'd love to see her. Just to see what she's done with her life, how she is.'

'I'm sure she'd remember you Seth. You're a pretty hard person to forget.'

Seth gave her an appreciative nod before he pointed at Dolph. 'Alright wiseguy, your turn.'

_Two Hours Later..._

* * *

Brie's curled up body rose and fell in her sweet sleep. Next to her, Dolph's head lolled against the wall. The brothers Rhodes were in the hide, watching as the sun began to dip in the sky. Renee had drawn a grid in the dust and played tic-tac-toe with Seth. He was remarkably competitive, but hadn't counted on her being the same. Determined to win, they kept trying to nudge and distract each other.

'You've won the past two games. Why don't you be a gentleman and let this lady have a game?'

'Lady? I don't see a lady.'

'Seth you're an arsehole.' Renee pouted as he drew a circle in the sand to take him to yet another victory. He was a tactician alright, even in games like this.

'You love it.'

'Do I?' she asked, hands on the ground in front of her. She pushed her face close to annoy him. 'Do I Seth? Why would I love an arsehole? Doesn't seem like it would do me any good.'

'Some people are gluttons for punishment.' He answered and started to redraw the grid with the tip of his finger. Then, he swept the dust at her. It got in her hair, her eyes, her ears, her mouth. She coughed and spat and tried desperately to get rid of it all. Her eyes stung and she felt the grit on her tongue. 'Gotcha.'

'Seth Rollins!' she snapped and shoved him so hard he actually tumbled over. She cackled in victory and quickly drew a series of xs in the sand. 'I win!'

Seth heaved himself back up and stared at the grid. 'Well would you look at that. Looks like I lost.' He clicked his fingers in mock annoyance. 'Well done miss Young.'

'Do I get a prize?'

He thought about it, a finger pressed against his lips for a minute. 'We only have beans and dirt.'

'Well they don't sound like fun prizes. Whatever happened to wine and chocolate?'

A sudden purr came from the entrance of the hide.

'Lillian!' Renee couldn't contain her glee as her beloved cat slinked down into the cool air. She hadn't been worried, her cat had the ability to survive anything and get into the smallest of places, she would have found some shelter out in the heat. The ball of fluff and fuzz slinked forward, and leapt gracefully into Seth's lap, rather than Renee's. 'She likes you too much.'

Seth stroked the cat gently and joyously, he seemed to enjoy the animal's company as much as she enjoyed his. 'Well can you blame her? Who wouldn't want to be close to this handsome mug?'

He looked up at her.

Quite suddenly the whole den seemed too close. There was something odd in his eyes. Something darker, something...wanting. She felt it from her toes up to her head and this time...she moved to. He came closer, sweat on their brows, salt on their lips. Her eyes closed, her heart pounded in fear, in anticipation. Light-headed, body heavy, the distance took forever to close. His lips touched hers, and she felt it through her entire being. He kissed her, explored her lips, took his time, didn't rush her. He was soft with her, gentle. Kind. She liked how he kissed her, how it made her insides curl and dance. His hand touched her cheek, and she opened her eyes. He smiled at her, face, eyes full of warmth. A little laugh escaped him, a shake of the head.

'Oh Renee you don't know what you're doing...'

'It's been a long time...I mean I haven't practiced...'

'No, not that peanut.' He held out an arm and she shuffled over and into his embrace, leaned against him and he kissed the top of her bristle cut hair. 'I don't think you're for me. I think you're meant for someone else.'

'But, we kissed! And it was fun! Didn't you like it?'

'Of course I did -,'

'Don't you like me?'

'More than you know and more than I should,'

'Did I do something wrong?'

'What?' he laughed at that. 'God no, Renee, you don't understand. I like you, so much, I want you, and need you, but not in this way...and I think we both know, that there's someone else in your head. I love you, Renee Young, but you're my sister...and I think Roman needs you.'

Renee bit her lip. 'But we know each other so much better Seth, we've spent time together, had time to bond...doesn't that give us a better chance?'

'Don't you dare gamble your heart away just because something has better odds Renee.' Seth chided. 'We're not on this earth long enough for that.'

He was too wise for a smart arse. She wanted to punch him and kiss him all at once. That one moment had released something inside of her, that worry she'd held onto so long out of loneliness.

'Roman's on his way Renee...you're going to see him again.'

'What do I say to him Seth? I mean...I know it's only been days but after everything we've been through, it feels like forever.'

'Hey Roman can I have your babies?'

'Seth you know we do not live in a healthy environment for raising children right now.'

'That happened to be a joke.'

'I knew that.'

He chuckled and ruffled what little hair she had before scooping up Lillian and dropping her in her mistresses lap. 'You'll be just fine Renee, I know you will.'

'And what about you?'

'I'm Seth Rollins, remember? I'm awesome.'

She smiled at that. How could he be so good to her? So kind? He'd sorted out her feelings for her in a few short minutes after tangling them up in the first place. How could he do it? Was this just how life worked? She fussed over her cat, stroked her fur, so warm from where she'd been out in the sun. Evening was drawing in now, and she wanted to leave the hide, get out into the open where she could stretch her legs, but just as she was about to open her mouth to suggest it –

'A beast! It comes through the evening, a lone meteor through space! It comes, out of the black hole, and survives to carry life to the dead world! A star, a star!'

'A car...Seth, Seth could it be them?'

He didn't stop to answer her. He left the title behind in his hurry and scrambled from the safety of the shelter. 'Seth wait!' Renee quickly placed Lillian near Brie and grabbed the golden title from the dust. It felt strange in her hands, like she didn't quite have the strength to carry it, but she liked how it felt, the shape. She studied its blunt colour, caught in the wobble of her reflection, harsh and old. She shook her head and quickly put it over her shoulder as she took after Seth. He stood at the mouth of the hide. Arms by his side, eyes on the road as some great vehicle came into view. It rumbled along the asphalt before it came to a grunt and a stop.

She could feel her heartbeat slam into the earth. Her hand took Seth's. He was shaking. The doors opened...


	51. One Step Closer

((**Hi guys! So this is it! The final chapter of this story, sorry to spring it on you! I want to thank you all for your complete and utter support! But don't fret! The story will continue in the sequel **_**Release The Hounds**_**, so look out for it! I've loved writing this piece and can't wait to begin the next chapter of the boys story. I hope that you all will take a look if you liked _My Little Friend_ to see what happens to them! In the meantime, please show your love for this last upload in this part of the story, let me know what you think, and your hopes for the new story! I love you all, thank you so much! UPDATE: We've managed to break 8,000 views! This is absolutely incredible! Thank you everyone for your dedication!))**

**((You can find the link to the next part of the **_**Dog Soldiers**_** Arc here! : **** s/11605179/1/Release-The-Hounds))**

**BUCHANAN**

The risk of just strolling out into the open was so high, but the sun too strode far into the noxious sky. To stay inside was just as much a death trap as it was to stumble into the early air. Perhaps it would not be as bad once their bodies adapted.

'It's fuckin' hot out here.'

'That's because we're in Buchanan, the hottest part of the state. They say that when the Authority ordered it burned down, the sun took it literally and has scorched it ever since.' John said with happiness to his voice that seemed very misplaced in such a grim place. He sat behind the wheel and peered out through the windscreen at the ghost town with intrigue. Dean had near launched himself out of the door as soon as the truck stopped; Roman took a more slow approach.

Dean shielded his eyes and looked up to the sky. There it was. That glowing orb of fucking magnificence he'd waited so long to stand below. He felt this incredible heat on his shoulders – real heat, the kind that bore through time and space and didn't just dwell with the flies in the Wyatt's compound or down in a grave. This was the sun, and he stretched out his arms, palms up to the sky. This felt like freedom. He could have tasted it forever, drank in the light if not for the heat. Too hot for his shallow skin and cold blood; it was too hot for rats like him. Its rays had never touched Kennedy, the sewers and street corners where he'd lived his life. He never thought he would find a day when the sun would shine down on ol' Dean Ambrose. People wrote poems about this shit.

Roman clung to the side of the truck and peered around. His hand was cruel agony, his body tired, legs ready to give out. The bruises and the beating from Lesnar were catching up with him. His eye had swollen shut, his split lip had puckered and he could barely tell up from down. But this was Buchanan, there was no mistaking it from the stories. So where was Seth? Where was Renee? He peered around as best he could as Cena clambered out of the truck and moved to sit on its hood, cross legged and clearly interested in his surroundings.

'Hey, did you guys know that the Guerrero family who ran the Buchanan shanty were one of the oldest family's in the state of Capitol's history? And then up they went in smoke. So sad.'

'Thanks for the history lesson Cena. Say, you think you could use that able body of yours to try and find our brother?'

'Sure thing,' Cena swung himself down nimbly and headed off down the half melted road.

'You just wanted rid of him, right?' Dean said, eyes closed against the sun he was determined to absorb. He had already sweated through, and the sudden exposure almost seemed to cause him pain, but he didn't care. It sank in through his cuts, teased the raw wounds round his wrists and the gash on the back of his head and the broken ribs all felt a little less worse for wear. Rome wished he could have had a little of the sun's healing touch, but he could feel nothing. His legs gave, he slipped down into the dust, only to find a head slung under his arm. 'Come on Rome, we gotta go find Seth.'

Roman nodded, but couldn't move himself. Dean did his best to try and raise him up, but he was dead weight. They'd both been through so much, too worn out to even do the simplest of actions. Together, they slid down into the sand, heads against the hot metal of the vehicle. It burned the backs of their necks, they looked up at that massive ball of gas in the sky, tried to blink away the blind spots. Dean closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, and watched all of the colors – so they could be found in complete darkness. Breathing was difficult, and they could have quietly died there. Their sweat ran over skin unaccustomed to such heat. Their bodies, crumpled and crossed out were so tired. They could just sleep; heads together, at least not alone. But then -

'Rome! Dean!'

That voice. He knew that voice. Mouth agape, Roman tried to focus in the direction it came from. The still air could have dragged it for miles and he and Dean turned toward it, pinpointed through the graveyard of tin and bones. There. They tried to open their eyes a little more, to focus them. There, coming toward them – there! They knew that body better than they knew their own; they knew the build, the scribble of hair, his weird run.

'Seth!' Dean nearly choked on it. He tried to drag Roman forward, only made it a couple of meters before he collapsed once again under the weight. He couldn't do it, couldn't go any further. They'd come so far, done so much. But he was there. His knees were in the dirt and his head blocked out the sun and Seth's hands were on Dean's face, he held him in, held onto him, pulled him close and pulled him in. He held his head to his, and Dean felt the prickle of something in his heart and in his eyes, familiar, the feeling of coming home. Seth cried, it ran freely down his face where it dried before it hit the wild tangle of his beard. His eyes were hollow and drawn back into his skull. He kissed Dean square on the mouth.

'You're alive. You beautiful lunatic you're alive!'

'And kickin',' Dean added with a loose grin. 'Missin' some bits an' pieces but still in workin' order captain.'

'We left you.'

'Nah,'

'We did, Dean we left you and we shouldn't have. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.'

'Ya came back,' Dean said quietly. 'S'what matters.'

Seth clung onto him so tight, his brother back with him. A man he loved more than the stars and more than the air that he squeezed through his torrid lungs, he was there again. All the emptiness and the loneliness, all of the pain and the fear, the broken and shattered bones and the illusions he'd cast his mind through, none of it mattered anymore. Nothing compared. This feeling, this was power and this was a high that couldn't be injected or taken. The feeling of being complete once more. He didn't want to let go for fear they'd disappear into the dust, burn away in the heat of the sun. If he released Dean now...would he be nothing more than a ghost? An illusion of the Buchanan sun? It didn't matter, if this was an illusion, he must have found his way to hell's gates after all...because that was where they'd wait for him. No. This was life, and nothing more mattered. Nothing mattered beyond the two men before him. He turned to Roman, half dead, but still there.

There were no words. He pressed his forehead to Roman's, eyes closed, the contact to make sure he was real, the brain so he could try and press his thoughts through to his mind. Words couldn't express what he felt. He'd been a lost child, and now the guiding hands and gods in the sky had brought back what healed him and gave him more hope than any prayer or kind word. They made him immortal. They were together, and together, they were the sky and the sea. They were mountains and the forces that turned the earth. He'd never felt so strong, in such a weak body. Roman...he was so broken, but he'd somehow carried Dean back, he'd brought them together with his love and his determination. Just like he'd promised him he would in that warehouse in Harrison. It seemed like years had passed. The sickness he'd been burdened with had passed, now the ones who needed care were in his arms.

Seth sniffed and rubbed his nose, a glance suddenly behind him to where a figure stood in the waves of heat.

'There's someone I think you should see.'

With Dean, Seth tucked himself under Roman's arm, together they hauled him up, carried him, dragged him forward, toward the woman in the haze.

_His name was Seth Rollins. They came for him in solitary, locked away for his own protection. Seemed it wasn't clever to steal from serial killers and to climb prison walls. But they liked that, the man and women in business suits. They had his record, read him every single entry, told him they were impressed. He was so young, had done so much, and only just caught, only just put away. They said it seemed a waste to let such talent rot in prison. They told him that they were planning something. A group, an elite unit that would be used to reduce crime in Kennedy, that would help protect their city. They told him that they needed someone smart enough to run it, to plan with military precision, to know how people worked. They needed someone with no history, no family, someone who could get around unseen, get in and out of places without anyone knowing. Who better than a cat-burglar with genius level IQ._

_Was he interested?_

_Turns out he was._

_His name was Dean Ambrose. He'd heard all about him, seen the files, knew what he was capable of. He had no one. His family were dead or disappeared and he fought for himself. He had no direction, an animal that needed to be tamed, to be chained, pointed and released. They locked away the people they feared in the asylum. He knew that it was the best place to look for what he needed. Three: three men, three criminals, specialized and lost. That was what they wanted when they snatched him out from behind bars, sat him down and made him a deal. They could use his brain they told him. But brains weren't enough. You couldn't be a successful unit with just a brain. He wanted unpredictability, sheer bloody-mindedness, devotion until death. It would take a long time, but he knew he could win him over if he persevered. He was a name on a chart until he met him._

_There, through the glass in the door, he found the man curled up on the floor, quietly chewing the padding out of the walls. A sudden noise changed him, he spat out the wadding, screamed and howled, was on his feet, smashed his head on the wall over and over. They told him he was a basket case, a psychopath, a maniac who couldn't be trusted, couldn't be tamed. But he saw something else, saw the eyes in the skull of the mad man. They connected, locked, and in an instant, he knew he couldn't leave him behind. A bond formed without words. The certified lunatic turned away from him, back to his corner, hands clasped around legs and stared at the wall. He met him in the fall as the leaves started to crumple and tumble. Dean didn't know what leaves looked like until Seth brought them to him. He noticed how Dean's fingers and knuckles were always broken from where he punched the walls. He gave him padded gloves to protect him. Sometimes when he found him, he had been beaten. Sometimes they bound him, locked him in a straitjacket. He told him of a girl named AJ he was his friend, but he never met her. When they came, told him that there was nothing that could be done, he would be operated on to make him less violent...he had to get him out. _

_An old friend with a penchant for pipe bombs blew the doors one night. Seth took Dean away from it, gave him a flak jacket and a cause to fight for. _

_His name was Roman Reigns. He was the last to join. They found him after a bar-fight turned nasty, and he found blood on his hands in an alleyway. He tried to wash them off in Kennedy's rain, three dead men, wasters around him, neck's broken. Not a scratch on him. They knew who he was. They'd been sent after him. The Game knew his name. Told them that there was no doubt, this was their final member. He was the last of a line of military blood, the golden kind which had once been on the throne of Kennedy. There was family – but not pure, muddied somewhere in the line and outside the walls of Kennedy, it would not matter. What mattered was they needed him, and they wanted him. Cousin of the Great One, the man known as the Rock...he took convincing. They sat him down, they told him what they were going to do. He liked the idea of justice. Like them, he'd been on the run from his demons. Dark deeds hatched in the wars beyond the state. He'd seen things, done things, they knew. He had particular skills which would be useful for them. He had the brawn, knew how to fight and how to kill, knew weapons and strategy. _

_He said no._

_They left him to think about it. They went out to do their work on their own. But he found them hours later, hung out to dry by drug lords, seconds from a scorching. He saved their asses and disappeared off into the rain. But evil didn't forgive so easy. Later, he found himself bleeding into puddles, gun to his temple when they came for him. They never left him again from that day, and he never let them out of his sight. They became brothers by more than blood, more than soul. A bond burned into their spirits. They could not exist without the other. They became something strong, sharper than a sword, stronger than steel. They became the Shield. The Hounds of Justice. They became more than they were ever meant to be._

_Her name was Renee Young, and all her life she was waiting for something amazing to happen to her. It did. _

She stood, waiting, and there he was. Her breath caught in the back of her throat like a knot. She'd waited for so long, and now here he was. Left behind by the reaper, he had fallen so far down he was human. She could see the lines on his face, the cracks in his ribs and in his heart, held up by his brothers, one hung up under each arm. They were all there, she saw that perfect machine, organic and...and they'd all survived. He saw her, and she was walking now. He hitched himself up and free, body not quite there and not quite listening, but he could see her. Legs that hadn't obeyed now struggled forward, independent. His breath struck against the burned air, she felt like she'd swallowed the sun. It burned her body so hot that it brought tears to her eyes.

'Renee,' his voice was strained, gruff as he drew to a halt in front of her. She stilled her own feet. Come hell and high water she'd fought for these men, and now, all of the doubt she'd felt now at this moment, this reunion, it surfaced and bubbled inside of her. She bit her lip, conscious of her dirty face and her soldier's hair. She adjusted the strap of the Kennedy Title against her shoulder. She'd been brave for minutes, hours and days for him, and now, stood in front of him, she knew every battle, every bone had come to this. Her fingers trembled as she loosened the gold; arms shook against the weight as she lifted it over her head, and pressed it forward into his hands. Time had brought them to this moment.

_One step closer_, _just one step closer..._

He saw that dull power squint up at him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her against him. The title nudged her back as if it had never left, and she sank into his body. She'd been gone for so long, this was what home felt like. He felt too safe. Too comfortable, and it was the pain of realization that she'd changed too much. She was not the waitress he'd pulled from _Mama_'_s_. She'd absorbed the people she'd met, who she'd grown to love stronger than she could possibly imagine. They were her pills and the addiction had made her squirm against him. She wanted to see his eyes, and when he pulled back, and she saw the summer storm locked in his skull, she knew it was just beginning. The open road she'd screamed down, this wild ride had brought her here. She'd lived.

'Hey Roman,'

He ran his fingers over the rough of her face, his hand over her scruff of hair, he lifted her chin, looked into her eyes as if he were searching for something he'd lost.

'Renee.'

'It's good to see you,' she whispered. Her face pressed into the crook of his hand, and she loved how real he felt. This wasn't one of her dreams. This wasn't a face in the stars like she'd pictured him. He was better than that. She felt his weight press against her. His legs, they gave and he crumbled down into the dirt. But she caught his head, his arm, tried to keep him upright. He looked like death had come, consumed and spat him out again. 'You look...terrible.'

A grunt of a laugh, and she laughed too, a salty tear teased the corner of her eye. She wiped it away with her forearm, just held his head in place now, looked at him and shook her head. What could she say to him?

'So this is Renee Young.'

Dean appeared next to her, crouched down like a frog. He looked a little like one, with shiny sweat plastered over his body and wide eyes. He had a mess of hair on his head and his chin and he looked too bendy, too...too everything. 'I like her.' He decided. His head swung from left to right, and when Seth came and squatted next to them, Dean quickly shuffled himself so that he sat on Seth's back, arms around his brother's neck. The closeness was undeniable. They were a part of one another, and now, reunited, she knew what she'd fought for, and that it was worth it. She looked down at her hands, where those _Dirty Deeds_ had been strapped for days. Slowly, she undid them, peeled them away from her flesh, and handed them back to their true owner. Dean stared at her looked down at those studded gloves like an old friend had been welcomed back, but then, he shook his head, and passed them back.

They weren't his anymore. They belonged to her.

Renee gave him a small smile and returned her gaze to Roman. 'What happens now?'

'We have a throne to overthrow,' Seth said.

'A king to behead,' Dean added with glee.

They looked down to Roman, who still clutched the title in hand. 'A world to save,' he muttered quietly.

Renee nodded slowly. 'That sounds like fun. Mind if I tag along?'

Seth slung an arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead. 'Baby, wouldn't do it without you.'

She stroked the side of Roman's face. She'd feared what could be said, and what she'd felt, but now, as she saw him, felt the gaze from that one open eye, she knew she didn't have to worry. Whatever it was, that creeping feeling that had lingered from the moment they met, it was real and strong and it might take time, but she knew it could grow if she fed it the fire she saw in his soul. Roman reached up slowly and caught the hand that touched his face, fingers twisted in hers, cementing them together.

'There's more to come...this isn't over yet.' Roman whispered.

'I know. But I'm with you, all of you. We're not alone. We have friends,' she looked back toward the shelter where they slept. 'They'll help us. We'll do what's right – we'll take back your home, your city.' Her fingers traced the gold that Roman released into the dust. 'This is bigger than any of us.'

But Roman shook her head, and pulled her close to him, so that her ear was next to her mouth. His words so quiet that only she could hear them, only just over the hammer drum of her heart.

'Nothing is bigger than you.'


End file.
